OCT 8 11898 

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap..j.___ Copyright No. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 



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2na COPY, j8^^ 

1890. 

16850 



COPYRIGHT, 1896 AND 1898, BY PAUL SHIVELL 
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY MAST, CROWELL & KlRKPATRlCK 



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^^iH^'er Of 



PRESS OF 

United Brethren Publishing House 
Dayton, Ohio 



DEDICATION. 

This is my book. I come to you, my father, 

And for the disobedience of past years 
I ask forgiveness. We have loved together. 

And quenched the bonfires of my youth with tears. 
Yet I grow full ; the old wrong reappears ; 

And I must be assured once more with kindness 
That you still love me, — that the wound endears 

Thy son, who gave it, for 'twas all in blindness. 

This is my book. Oh can you feel the pride 
You felt that evening by the riverside, 

When with emotion a good father knows, 
You heard me read my little piece, September, 

Written that day, my first developed rose, 
The one you loved the most. — do you remember? 






Gnienis 



Dedication, v. 

September, 1 

Watching a Ship at Sea, 2 

Bitterness and Faith, 5 

The Sea, 6 

Solitude, 7 

"Equatoria, 7 

Summer Night, 10 

The Dead Year, 10 

Fragments to Myself, 12 

The Cannon, 13 

Dreaming, 14 

Dawn, 15 

Primitive Theology, 15 

Children, 17 

Written for School Annual, 18 

A Fragment, 19 

The Artist and the Artisan, 19 

Melodrama, 23 

In an Old Book on Leaving School, 21 

Epistle to Laird Easton, 24 

Another to Eastie, 36 

Stanzas of a Communion, 48 

A Little Bird, 52 

"In the Hollow of His Hand," 53 

New York and the Hudson, 54 

vii 



Gnienl^ 



From the Spanish, 55 

Art and Nature, 56 

Communions, 56 

My Mother, 58 

The Degenerate, 63 

An Appeal for the Armenians, 64 

A Plowboy Lullaby, 75 

Next Day, 77 

Little Edgar, 78 

Concerning Faces, Snoots, Etc., 79 

Winter, 80 

Summer, 80 

Old Memories, 82 

Bill Somers, 87 

The Diffusion of Learning, 100 

There, There, 'T Will Not be Long, 104 

Written for a Friend, 105 

To a Mother, 105 

Kiss Me Good-Night, 106 

When Winter Comes, 107 

Why Should I Shed One Tear, 108 

With You, Sweet Love, 108 

Roses, 109 

Popular Providence, 110 

At Dim Twilight, 111 

Parted, 112 

Joe Snow, 112 

Fall Roses, 114 

Lean Man's Prejudice, 115 

A Little Boy, 116 

In Cousin Etta's Birthday Book, 117 



Vlll 



Eph, 118 

Ode to Gertrude, 119 

A Mother, 121 

A Little Song for Gertrude, 122 

I Love Thee, 123 

Night, 124 

Regret, 124 

Offhand Replies, 125 

"They Cry Unto the Lord in Their Troubles," 

128 
Pride Doeth, Pride Rueth, 129 
Duty, 130 
To My Muse, 130 

A Pear Blossom in Early March, 132 
An Anonymous Attack, 134 
Spring, 135 
To a Windflower, 136 
"Cuba Libre!" 137 
March and April, 144 
May, 144 

Midsummer Night, 160 
Poor, 161 

The County Fair, 162 
The Calfie-Cow, 165 
The Stream, 166 
My Town, 167 
The Piggies, 168 
The Mole, 169 

To Keats, After Reading His Life, 171 
Marriage, 172 
Failure, 174 

4 

IX 



Last Night, 174 

Little Allegra, 175 

Chickenology, 176 

To Myself, 177 

To My Brother Arthur, 177 

Little Birds, 180 

When We Were Married, 181 

After Hearing a Famous Evangelist, 182 

To My Brother Arthur, Embarking for 

Cuba, 183 
To Laird Easton, 184 
Peace, 189 
My Brother, 191 
Envoy, 192 



AsW 1 fe^s 



SEPTEMBER. 

September's sun stole softly on the land, 

Peeped 'tween the crags, and bathed the glittering 

sand, 
Where, 'neath the cliff, the fishing hamlet lay, 
In dreamy silence of another day. 

The night's sweet dew, in morn's thin mist set free. 
Was wafted on the zephyrs out to sea ; 
Where white-winged ships, against a cloudless sky. 
Leaned in the breeze, and drifted slowly by. 

From where the spray fell sparkling at their feet. 
The loving fishwives watched the little fleet. 
Still, lingering slow along the sobbing shore, 
Wiped 'way their tears to view the specks once more. 

Soon, from their cheerful huts, their hopeful lays 
Of Time Eternal, and its brighter days. 
Stole sweetly on the silence of the morn, 
And fainted in the breeze the night had borne. 

The village children, fresh from restful sleep. 
Had scrambled up the rocks, and down the steep. 
And chased each other on across the sand, 
Exchanging screams with sea-birds as they ran. 
1 1 



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Still, from their distant play-ground in the shade 
Of some tall cliff, for drowsy echoes made, 
Their mirthful voices sweetly rose and fell. 
And distant sea-birds screamed their sad farewell. 

So dreamed the early morn into the past. 
That will absorb all earthly time at last ; 
When all the joys and sorrows of life's day-. 
Will fade in sleep's forgetfulness away. 

Thus will the Muse of humble poets sing 

Each morn's delights — and each its own will brin^ 

To all true lovers of life's simple charms, 

Till Time and Fate resound their last alarms. 



WATCHING A SHIP AT SEA. 

Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 

Here by this peaceful sea, at quiet dawn, 

A little child, in the joy of health, 

I'll plan a life of greatness for myself 

I'll build a mighty ship and sail the seas ! 

Or help the aged to a life of ease. 

I'll build white cities by the ocean's shore ! 

Or journey through the land and help the poor. 

I '11 wed a little girl and live in state ! 

But shall not turn the hungry from my gate. 

And while I walk with Jesus all life long, 

I'll dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 

Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 
The morning mists flee fast before the sun. 

2 



And life in clearer view before me lies 

Than I had seen through childhood's glorious eyes. 

But in the hideous turmoil of the war 

Of man 'gainst man, in greed of pomp and store, 

I shall not enter ; but with brother's love, 

In harmony with that of Heaven above, 

I '11 have a kindly hand and happy word 

To succor the oppressed, and comfort those who 've 

erred. 
So, on through serious life with cheerful song, 
I'll dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 

Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 

The graver calls of life are now begun. 

For my beloved need the bread of life. 

And I must humbly enter in the strife. 

But Nature for her children will provide, 

If they'll but throw vain fantasy aside, 

And live by product of a fruitful brain. 

Or till the sunny soil, made sweet with wind and rain. 

So I will live, and humbly earn the bread. 

Which then our God will give, as Christ hath said. 

Then when at eve I rest, my labor done, 

I'll dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 

Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 
The fruits of eager toil are now my own. 
My faithful ones, the few that do not sleep 
Upon the silent hill above the deep. 
Enjoy the pleasures of abundance given 
To those who follow the precepts of Heaven. 



And I, who've followed in the paths I made 
In morning life, now lie in noon-life's shade ; 
And muse with vague regret upon the past, 
Or contemplate the sweetness of my last ; 
While still I harvest life's poetic lawn, 
And dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 

Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on. 

Still evening with its train comes stealing on. 

Thy spreading wake laps faintly on the shore, 

And the receding past is heard no more. 

And I, alone heside this quiet sea, 

Where I have dreamed these many years with thee. 

Await the time when God shall call me home. 

To dream forever where no storms shall come. 

But others here, when I at last am gone, 

Will dream with thee, silent ship ; dream on. 

Dream on, silent ship, dream on and on ; 
The boundless deep is all thy happy home ; 
Whose restless bosom holds the ebbing day. 
That soon, with me, will fade and pass away. 
When night, that follows on the setting sun, 
Will lie within the deep as day has done, 
And, fleeing from the morn, will oft return 
With rest for souls like me, that watch and yearn. 

Now darkness flows upon the ebbing light : 
The sea reflects the fast-increasing night. 
Thy airy sails, like night mist o'er my soul, 
Speed me away beyond the world's control — 



A light ! A liglit ! far on the dim sea-line 

It brightens, broadens, and goes out. Not mine. 

But, though I linger, I shall soon be gone. 

I cannot see. But thou, silent ship, speed on. 



BITTERNESS AND FAITH. 
I. 

There are no good. Go mount the peaii 

And see life's farther surge. 
See darkness reeked in horror sneak 

Along the scowling verge. 
And storms through all like dragons crawl, 

Wild-anxious to emerge. 

Look not for joy in this bleak world, 
Where thorns guard every rose. 

Where serpents creep through broken sleep 
In beds of friendly foes ; 

For hideous screams will end thy dreams 
When Death's wings round thee close. 

For all the world 's an empty glass, 

From which the foolish drink. 
And o' er their sips they smack their lips, 

And never pause to think, 
While wise men stand aloof and pass 

Around the knowing wink. 
5 



V 

II. 

Ah, Bitterness, men may be wrong, 
But they are nearest right 

Who find no fault, but with a song 
Turn misery to delight. 

And they are least who at their feast 
Have Ridicule and Spite. 



THE SEA. 

Blow, blow, breezes, blow! 
Over the dripping waves we go. 
Out of the bay and into the dawn. 
Where the dew lies cool on the ocean lawn, — 
Oh ! our life 's as free as the vagrant sea — 
Sing ! who can tell what to-morrow will be? 
Up with the sky, boys ! Steady, steady, 
And the dizzy waters spiral and eddy 
Into the wake as we gurgle along, 
Wind and waves and bubble and song. 
Over the sprawling foam we go, — 
Blow, blow, breezes, blow) 

Away, away to the open sea ! 
Swift as the gull in the wind are we. 
Cheerily, cheerily, on we go. 
With the wet sky drowned in the sea below, — 
Oh ! we challenge aloud to the mountainous cloud. 
And away we cut with our gun' ales bowed — 
Up, up, down, down. 

With a sternward glimpse of the far-off town ; 

6 



Hurrily, drowsily, on we fly, 
With the driving cloud in the whistling sky. 
Far from the pent-up world are we, 
Headed out to the open sea. 



SOLITUDE. 

Ah, it was dreamy weather. 

The summer sea at evening lay asleep. 
We sat alone together. 

And heard with beating hearts the long swells creep 
Along the silent shore, 
That echoed back our promise, "Evermore." 

A year of nights has flown ; 

And still the sea in nature's bosom sleeps. 
All yearningly alone 

I listen : and the same cold swell still creeps 
From that Eternal Shore, 
But answers me : "No, never; nevermore.'* 



EQUATORIA. 

Here the torrid heaven glitters away 
To a palm-line, dimly seen, 

Returning again, ruflled now and then, 
In the lake that glares between. 

Deep, deep, deep 

Is the lurid tropic sky, 
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And deeper the green in the smoothe lake's sheen 

Where the languid lilies lie. 
Far down the skies, 

Where the hot horizon lies, 
By the low, green neck I can see a speck, 
Dark, like the smoke from a hurning wreck, 

And a lonely sea-bird cries. 

All glare and dead lies the glassy lake, 

And stark stand the breathless trees. 
No beast nor bird to be seen or heard : 

No sound from the dying breeze. 
Hot, hot, hot 

Is the burning tropic sky. 
All stagnant the green in the poisonous sheen, 

Where the lilies droop and die. 
Far, far away. 

Like a wild beast of prey. 
The dark cyclone comes forth alone 

From the verge of the molten day. 

All still and hot lies the gloomy lake, 

Where the lilies gasp for breath; 
And the great heart-beat of the world of heat 

Is held in the hush of death. 
All, all around, 

No stir, — no sign of a sound; 
And the sickly swoon of the wide lagoon. 

And the wide, wide world profound, 
And the beat, beat, beat, 

Of the merciless, pitiless heat, 



And the weird, wild moan of the dark cyclone, 
Like a plague in a winding sheet, — 

Up from suspense starts the shuddering air, 

And away from the haunted lake, 
On ghostly wings, like imagined things 

In the lull of a midnight wake. 
On, on, on 

Comes the panting, groaning cloud. 
Twisting the lake till its waters break, 

And seethe, and bellow aloud. 
Night! night! night! 

Oh, God ! what a gloomy sight — 
The place — the place — Oh, fierce embrace 
Of the blinding, stifling — Ah, a space. 
And the sun bursts forth with steaming face 
On the blessed scene, — God's love — God's grace- 
Breathe ! while the air is light. 

All fresh and cool flows the laughing lake. 

Bringing the deep blue sky. 
And peaceful and calm stands the graceful palm. 

Where the wheeling storm-birds cry. 
Hush ! hush ! hush ! 

Oh, hush to the throne of God ! 
All scattered the green where the ripples careen, 

Lapping the lily pods. 
Far, far across. 

Where the sparkling whitecaps toss, 
White birds of peace from their hidings cease. 
And on in the glimmering world's decrease 

Goes the wandering albatross. 
9 



SUMMER NIGHT. 

Oh, I hear music ! While I hold my breath, 

Listening, afar it seems, 
As when the strange return of friends from death 

Hangs in the sad uncertainty of dreams. 
Woo me from sleeping, — rouse me with soft strains 

To sweeter visions, where the enchanted lay 
Lingers and lingers while the night remains, 

And I may die in tune and float away. 
Oh, melody of sweet sounds that love to well 

From silence, and live on ! 
My soul gropes out into the night : thy spell 
Lures with untruthful echoes that do tell 

Sweeter than truth. I feel the breath of dawn 
Born of a night of music. Hark ! One swell, — 

And all is silent now, and thou art gone. 



THE DEAD YEAR. 

The year we loved is dead : see where she lies, 

Cold, and still beautiful, in her shroud of snow. 
The sun, withdrawn behind the moaning skies. 

No more with beaming face sees joy o'erflow. 

The flowers that in his love-glance blushed to blow, 
Bowed down with sorrow, closed their withered eyes. 

The brook is silent where we loved to go. 
And, for it hears no sound, the hill no more replies. 

Ah, we remember since that life is flown. 

And through the fields with her no more we rove, 

10 



How all the fair young flowers, bereaved and lone, 
Would sadly watch for some responsive love ; 
And how they missed the sun's face from above. 

And saw the darkening clouds where he had shone ; 
And how deep in the wood the mateless dove 

Sighed to the mournful, gathering cold alone. 

Ah, long they listened for that blither note 

Of happy lark, or for the long love strain 
That sweetened from the sylvan warbler's throat 

To thrill an answer from his mate again. 

Ah, long they listened ; but they harked in vain ; 
And heard but voices of the forest float 

Out o' er the unheeding sea, and there complain 
Of death, death, death, — 'till life was death by rote. 

Oft when the stricken sun still slowly crept, 

They watched and waited for his old love-light. 
Through many a faded day their vigil kept, 

Till storms of icy tears bedimmed their sight. 

Then as the dreary days gave way to lengthened 
night, 
And the cold, cheerless hours in silence wept, 

The stalwart trees, in grief, relaxed their might. 
And gave their leaves to warm the flowers that slept. 

And then by night from out the gloom and chill, 
Wierd funeral trains of grief-crazed birds sped on. 

Away forever in far clouds, and still 

There followed more when their dark forms were 
gone. 

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As^^$ J fe^i 



And through the shivering night the orphan fawn 
Crouched in the brake beside the querulous rill ; 

Or watched the cold, gray moonlight on the lawn, 
When the north wind's sorrow swooned, and all was 
still. 

The year we loved is dead. Come where she lies. 

Cold, and still beautiful, on her couch of snow. 
Come let us hurry where the brooding skies 

Comfort the sighing winds with kindred woe. 

Come where the frozen brook has ceased to flow, 
And the cold, voiceless cliff no more replies. 

Come where the lovely year lies dead below, 
And look beyond the world to Him who never dies. 



FRAGMENTS TO MYSELF. 

When fools reprove thee for a foolish act, 

~ Be not consoled to think they have not wit ; 

But, clothed in all thQ honest glare of fact. 

Know if thy garb appropriately fit. 
Perchance, in wisdom of thine own conceit. 
Thou sittest, an arch-fool, at thy folly's feet. 

A child instructs thee : thy impatient pride 
Cuts him short off, as if thou comprehend ; 

He learns thy silly weakness, and beside. 

What hast thou gained by ignorance of his end? 

'Twere better far to hear a child advise. 

Than cut him off to seem, thyself, more wise. . 

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Asides °f fe^S 

If one should ask thee to impart to him 
Uncommon knowledge, simply aquiesce, 

And humbly fill his question to the brim, 
Giving the truth in words of gentle stress. 

Impart, and find thy pleasure in the end 

That he who asks is happy to attend. 



Hear all the teachings of the great. 

Ev'n profit by the fool. 
Toil on, nor stop to imitate. 

Nor bind thyself by rule. 
In thine own state originate 

A new and better school. 



Be sure your conversation 's such 
That, talking little, you say much. 



THE CANNON. 

This is the gun whose iron mouth 

Belched shrieking death and loud destruction forth, 
Tore the fierce vitals from the struggling South, 

And bound it to the North. 

No more around thy starlit throne 

The dead shall lie, the dying w^rithe in pain ; 

Nor where the wild war bugle shall be blown 
Thy voice be heard again. 

13 



Back in that dark and empty cell, 

Where crouched the awful substance of thy wrath, 
The busy sparrows build their nests and dwell, 

And block the smoothe-worn path. 

Sleep, monster of the stripes and stars ; 

Thy bellowing voice the voice of God hath stilled. 
Let us forget the memory of old wars ; 

Come ye, and let us build. 

Come let us love, and build, and teach, 

Till white and black shall issue from the past, 

And through the blend of nations we shall reach 
The peaceful truth at last. 



DREAMING. 

The sky above is clear and blue. 
The sea is of a softer hue. 

And far out in the mists they meet and hide from 
view. 

There, whitened in the morning sun, 
A single sail allures me on 

To dream of happier days, grown sad since they are 
gone. 

I care not for the heaven that 's told, 
Of gates of pearl and streets of gold. 
But just such place to meet my friends when I am old. 

14 



DAWN. 

One morn, God's peace was with me, when I strolled 

Across the fields, beside the summer wood. 

High o'er the glistening oaks the gold-tinged clouds 

Clasped hands to welcome forth the blushing dawn ; 

When, from the quiet of that summer morn. 

All nature sang the glory of our God. 

From the bright fields, where flowers laughed with dew, 

The cool, green wood, the brook, and halloed hill — 

All in the freshness of the morning air — 

Yea, from the very soul of all the earth, 

Swelled the high anthem that not men alone, 

But all God's works, do feel a thrill to hear. 

Birds sang till e'en the jay tuned well his note, 

And joined the anthem with the dove. Beneath, 

Sweet robins in unruly choirs filled 

The grove and meadow with their summer song. 

And I, in the spirit of the joyful time. 

Joined soul and voice, and lifting up my praise 

To Him who blessed me with a life so full 

Of sympathy, with all that He has made, 

Clapped hands for joy ! Oh, I was happy then. 



PRIMITIVE THEOLOGY. 

' ' De hya'bes' is ready ! But de reapahs is few. ' ' 
Whaffo* you a-sayin' dah's nuffin' to do? 
Does you s'pose to go loafin* de long wintah thue? 
Does you 'spec's de Lawd's guine to keep black folks 
lak you? 

15 



Git out on de highways an' fetchin' dem in ! 
Don' say dat means preachahs ; dat's gittin' too thin. 
Hyeah's 'nough lazy sinnahs fu' to mek de wu'k spin ! 
An' dey's only one time, an' dat's now ! So bergin ! 

Hey ! Yon in de gall'ry ! Cain't you leave off awhile? 
Dis ain' no place fu' you-all youngstahs to smile. 
Brethern, open yo' eyes ! an' see mile on mile 
Ob human watah mell'ns 'bout ready to spile ! 

Den tol' me dis ain' no time fu' to wu'k? 
Dat's all mighty fine fu' you sinnahs dat shirk. 
But de debil is in you, and dah he will lurk, 
Twell de all-seein' Lawd gins a wink to his clerk. 

An' he says to his clerk, says'e : Bull' me a fiah ! 
As high as de highes' cliu'ch steeple an' highah ! 
'Twell I burn ebry drone right along wiv de liah, 
Don' keer ef he's preachah, o' deacon, o' squiah ' 

An' den de nex' minute, afo' you kin tell. 
You'll be chucked in de fiah an' brimstone ob hell! 
An' when yo' own meat in de cookin' you smell, 
Dah's de time fu' to holler, an' shoutin' an' yell. 

An' you'll call to de Lawd, an' you'll 'low "Lookee 

hyeah! 
Eecollec' how I sarbed you an' moved in yo' feah?" 
An' de debil '11 fork you and 'low wiv a sneah : 
"Any man dat's got time to spah ortn't to keer." 

Den's when to wa'm up yo' religion an' scream. 
But all yo' salt watah '11 tu'n into steam. 

16 



An' you won' come to, fu' it ain't no dream, 

But de fac's, as dey is in dis hyeah Book — de cream ! 

Now s'pose, on de othah ban', yo an' yo' kin 
Snatchin' all yo' brethern an' sistern f um sin, — 
Not stan' roun' de chu'ch do' a-axin' dem in, — 
Git out on de highways and waggle yo' chin ! 

An' when you's done thue instahcatin' yo' search, 
An' cram-fill de benches an' cheers in dis chu'ch. 
You'll be sho' ob yo' wings, an' yo' hyahp, an' yo' 

perch, 
Fo' de Lawd nevah leave hustlin' man in de lurch. 

An' you'll hyeah de Lawd tell his clerk : "Dem lazy 

mans. 
What ust ter set on de yarth holdin' dey ban's. 
Is learnt bettah sense, f'um de way de count stan's. 
So we'll jes' leave 'em in to de great Promis' Lan's." 

An' den when dat clerk rolls dem bright eyes erbout, 
An' commences fu' flllin' dem blank tickets out. 
Dab' 11 be heap plenty time fu' you sinnahs to shout, 
An' talk 'bout yo' neighbah dat's bein' locked out. 



CHILDREN. 

Please, sister, sit beside my bed, 

And hold my fingers tight ; 
Please put your arm around my head, 

1 feel so sad to-night. 

2 17 



I never feel so happy, dear, 
As when we had our mamma here. 
I loved my mamma, Oh, so much. 
And loved to feel her gentle touch, 
Like when she used to lay my hair 
Back from my eyes and kiss me there. 
And kiss you then. Oh sister dear, ^ 
I wish we had our mamma here. 

Don't cry, sister, — please don't cry. 

Some day we '11 go up there, 
Way up to Heaven in the sky, 

' Cause mamma told me where. 
When she was sick that 's what she said, 
When I was staying by her bed. 
She told me pretty stories, too. 
About how little flowers grew, 
And how the birdies have to go 
In winter ; 'cause she talked so low. 
And looked at me, and then I cried. 
And then she kissed me, — and mamma died. 

DEDICATION FOR SCHOOL ANNUAL. 

How school days lengthen out life's youthful Spring, 
And keep the health that youthful pleasures bring. 
How we, in thoughtlessness of foolish hours, 
Sow in life's early field these wilder flowers ; 
These weeds of idle thought, which, having reaped, 
And bound in sheaves, we give you now to keep. 
May they, dead wild flowers in life's sober field. 
Forever keep the fickle scent they yield. 

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Asides °f fe«S 

A FRAGMENT. 

While I have life, I '11 live to bless those lives 
That know of mine, by being known for deeds 
That all will love, and loving, will be happy. 
By wise activity to leave the world 
The lovelier for my having tarried in it. 
This is my aim. I shall apply myself 
To such pursuits as call my nobler parts 
To worthy exercise. God give me grace. 



THE ARTIST AND THE ARTISAN : AN ESSAY. 

First Means Prize, Phillips Academy, Andover, 
1895. 

One word may stand for others, when alone, 
Which, placed with others, takes some shade or tone ; 
But, used too often in so many ways, 
The finer meaning 's lost ; the coarser stays. 
Thus, vulgar associations have combined. 
To make our noble theme sound unrefined ; 
For "artist" means most any artful man. 
Who, rudely skilled, is called an artisan. 
'Tis here our object, by a just defense, 
To throw some light upon the finer sense. 

First, of the artist, born by Heaven's decree, 
To tell emotions none have felt as he ; 
Whose lightest thoughts are finer thoughts than ours. 
And, clothed by him, express resistless powers : 
Still, through whose deeper musings ever gleams 

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His chosen light, reflecting all he dreams. 

See where he goes to hail the charms that lie 

In clouds becalmed, or in the wind-swept sky ! 

There, ever rising with his chosen Muse, 

To make immortal what his sonl may choose : 

Forever seeking heights that none attain, 

Soars from the theme that we have tried in vain ; 

And, quitting earthly for ethereal laws, 

Wins from the world a weak, but just, applause. 

Shall we, whose love he earns with works so dear, 

Rate low the man, if he should blunder here? 

If worldly weak, how recompensed to show 

What we of worldly strength might never know. 

Diviner inspirations from above 

Echo to us, from him, diviner love. 

His sigh, or smile, or deeply boisterous laugh. 

Will find in us, who understand not half, 

Some faint response, which in itself shall wake 

Our quivering heart-strings for a nobler sake. 

0' er some strong means he must some mastery 
gain. 
Else all these higher flights would be in vain ; 
But none so poor Ib sent to teach mankind, 
But God has given to him the proper mind ; 
Which, rightly trained, may master what it will, 
As means to greater end than show of skill. 
So great that end, that, to obscure the means. 
Is art of art, and merits as it gains. 

Musician, painter, poet, — what the name — 
By different means will all express the same ; 
And, though we may not read them as we run, 

20 



The two, imagined, may reveal the one. 
As when breathless Appreciation stands 
Before the "Angelus," nor understands 
What it may be in that rude peasant pair 
Foils his weak speech: — 'tis God keeps silence there. 
Beneath he reads the poet's simple word : 
"Still, when the night is come, praise ye the Lord." 
He listens : — faintly from the distant tower 
Celestial chimes melt in the holy hour ; 
The radiant clouds still follow on the sun, 
And twilight steals across : — the day is done. 
The artist, to create this charm, employed 
The simplest symbols, lest it be destroyed : 
His deeper feelings he did so suggest. 
That we might see the thought, and feel the rest. 
But had he wished that lovelier charm to fail, 
He 'd but to drown it in a skilled detail. 
For who has taste for overdrawn accounts 
Of what suggestion had made clear at once ? 
And who but loves to feel he comprehends 
The final point before the story ends? 
Thus, to the portrait of a dearest friend, 
Well-painted flesh no natural feelings lend : 
We look for well-remembered traits that lie 
Drawn in the mouth, or twinkling in the eye ; 
He who denies us this most fair delight. 
And seeks to please us merely through our sight, 
Showing us clearly, what we clearly saw. 
To show us how precisely he can draw, — 
Is but an artisan, and, master of his art. 
May please the mind, but never charm the heart. 

21 



The rhetorician may, with skill, define 
Unwieldy things in but a single line ; 
And, when the charms are spent, and praises few, 
Play on his words, and catch with something new. 
Or, if good style in some great work he sees, 
He launches forth in that same style to please ; 
Till lack of finer power soon has shown . 
The art he tried to copy not his own. 
For, as 'tis genius does what none can do. 
The artisan cannot be artist too. 
Unless, unsuited to his motive here, 
He mounts, an artist, to his native sphere ; 
Where, though by training he 's a craftsman still, 
His motive, changed, is higher now than skill. 
But both are skilled in the same art to show. 
This, what he feels, that, what he 's proud to know. 
As skill was first in rank when art began. 
The artist first must be an artisan ; 
But, artist-born, he soon or late will soar. 
However fettered by his craft before. 

Then let the artisan his mastery tell. 
That he of greater power may use it well. 
Then when we drink the joys of sweeter song ; 
Of deeper truth, that never can be wrong ; 
Of nobler thoughts, more masterfully told ; 
Of purer love, that never shall grow old : 
We '11 crown the heaven-born genius in the skies. 
And honor him who helped his soul to rise. 



22 



Asides i fe«5 

MELODRAMA. 

The glims were doused throughout the house, 

Except the dim footlights. 
The fiddles whined the tune you '11 find 

Whene'er the villian fights. 

The murderous-toned bass viol groaned, 

Low-voiced and full of rage, 
When, knives in hand, the robber band 

Sneaked in upon the stage. 

Their bright knives glistened; they paused and listened; 

Then flourished, breathed, and glared. 
Now puffed and boiled, lunged and recoiled. 

Folded their arms and stared. 

The painted streaks upon their cheeks 

Frightened, repulsed, defied ! 
Each clenched his fist and scowled and hissed, 

And muttered oaths aside. 

The thunder crashed ! The lightning flashed 

And lighted up the gloom ! 
They tore their hair in dire despair, 

And bit their teeth at doom. 

Like vicious men, they breathed again, 

And whipped into a rage ! 
Then, turning round, without a sound. 

They sneaked across the stage. 



IN AN OLD BOOK ON LEAVING SCHOOL. 

While grinding through these tattered pages 
For Charlie, Goat, and other sages, 
Remember him who now engages 

In what he pleases, 
Far from their dull scholastic cages 

And brain diseases. 



EPISTLE TO LAIRD EASTON. 

Laird Easton, Flunk, Andover, Mass., 
Who, on a dog's-eared Latin ass. 
Prepares to chill the Middle Class 

With one bold stagger: — 
Say, don't you know you '11 never pass, 

You tough old swagger ? 

You awkward old ungainly, slow, 
Good-natured, easy, generous flow 
Of soul, what are you up to ? Ho .! 

Or are you up yet? 
I don't believe you are, by Joe ! 

But I won't stop yet. 

East ! East ! Get up you snorting beastie ! 
You mind me of a drunk-fat priestie, 
Rolled up so careless-like and resty 

Beneath the cover, — 
Get up ! You hear me? Ho there ! Eastie ! 

That ' s right, turn over. 
24 



East ! East ! You lazy, dark- complected, 
Eternal snoozer, grin-infected. 
And always, when awake, expected 

To act the fool, — 
Get up and get your brains collected ! — 

It 's time for school ! 

Sleep on, sleep on, thou noble sleeper. 
Sleep on, and dream of sleep yet deeper. 
East! East! Look! quick! here goes a creeper 

Straight up your nose ! 
There, now, get up and rub your weepers, 

And hunt your clo'es. 

Give ear unto my awkward lay. — 
What 's that you were about to say? 
You're tired? Why certainly, you jay, 

When were you not tired 
Since that long, prehistoric day 

When first you got tired? 

Come, East, my dear old patient friend. 
And if you ' ve got the time to spend, 
Just prop your eyelids and attend 

To my descriptions. 
Come, you must hear me to the end, — 

None your conniptions. 

I '11 soon be rhyming at a rate 
That often gets me in debate, 

25 



For wiser folks warn me to wait 

Until I'm older, 
And, in the meantime, educate 

With some mind-molder. 

But Eastie, I have had enough 

Of this long-faced pedantic bluff, 

With time-dried tongues, and all such stuff, 

So, for awhile, 
I '11 be contented with my rough, 

Untutored style. 

And why should I be made to climb 
Head downward through the caves of time, 
My tired brain groping in the grime 

Of book and bone, 
While far above, the clear sublime 

Dreams on alone? 

If God made me to tell the tale 
That lingers in the scented gale, 
Or lights the fast-receding sail 

Far out at sea, 
Then sea and meadow, hill and vale, 

Are books for me. 

He who inspired me not to stay. 
Who hears the music of my lay, 
Will guide me on my erring way. 
As I ascend, 

26 



Till sweetly at the close of day, 
My song shall end. 

Who'd bask in Goat's unwholesome graces 
Must truckle in the proper places ; 
Not flush with feeling's honest faces, 

But haste to choke 
With well-forced mirth and strained grimaces 

At every joke. 

And oh, how hard to counterfeit 
Conviction of a startling hit, 
When pity for the weakling wit 

Sickens the grin, 
Till all our face spells ' ' hypocrite ' ' 

From hair to chin. 

The poor, deluded, greasy grind. 
Who dotes upon a book-stuffed mind, 
And plugs his Latin till he 's blind 

With brute tenacity, 
In hearts like these will always find 

Enough capacity. 

But he who lives by inspiration. 
And seeks a means in education, 
Instead of a bookworm occupation 

Of deep research, 
Though abler, knows no approbation 

From school or church. 



And so there languished a poor prep, 

Who joked, and read, and laughed, and slept, 

And got his lessons well, except 

When wasting time, 
Against the English prof's precept, 

In writing rhyme. 

No more that master's keen insight 
Shall pierce the literary night, 
And drag his victim forth to light ; 

Mind is dominion ! 
Behold I exercise my write, 

Nor ask opinion. 

I left. I was uncomprehended 

As for some special life intended, 

And feared my dreams would soon be ended 

With sneering tutors. 
But I regret that I offended 
My persecutors. 

But in that grinding anchoret 

I found one friend who loves me yet ; 

Who, when the rest shall all forget 

Their rhyming brother, 
Will still recall the nights we met, 

And sang together. 

Yet kind old Rubbing, bless his heart, 
He stood beside me from the start ; 



28 



Ak^'f fees 



He '11 not forget, nor dear old Art, 
He '11 not forget; 

He '11 not forget, God bless his heart, 
He '11 not forget. 



And what a rare old opportunity 
To gas about our great community, 
Where mind and man are poised in imity 

To avoid mistakes, 
That each, alone, without impunity, 

Forever makes. 

I 'd have our vast, extended park, 
To ramble in from dawn till dark, 
Singing with whip-poor-will or lark. 

As the spirit moved me. 
And home again to a Noah's ark 

Of them that loved me. 



For I could never live alone, 

A hermit king, on any throne ; 

Give me J^oung children, some my own, 

To romp and meet me ; 
And a loving wife, a rose full-blown. 

To blush and greet me. 

Great artists, too, we'd have around. 
All moods, from simple to profound ; 
You, Eastie, uppermost and crowned, 
My young heart's friend ; 

29 



And at your throne of wit, renowned, 
The World would bend. 

Afield, the laborers would reign, 
The happy kings of toil's domain. 
And dress their realms of golden grain, 

Wholesome and scenty. 
With peaceful slumber for their pain, 

And smiling plenty. 

Sweet wild flowers would blush and blow, 
Untouched beneath the genial glow, 
That filtered softly down below 

Through cooling bowers, 
Or glittered into golden bows 

Through dripping showers. 

There, wild, and free, and unbetrayed. 
The gentle deer, beneath the shade. 
Would crop the tender, dewy blade. 

And mildly stare, 
Feeling no cause to be afraid 

Of hunters there. 

My nature, constant, unconfined, 
Would long, when heavy-souled, to find 
A temple, simple, soul-designed. 

Still as the tomb, 
Where holy thoughts convey the mind 

Beyond the gloom. 

30 



Askesf I^e^ 

When full at heart, alone I 'd stray, 
Hear music swell and die away, 
And feel the echoes sweetly play 

Back in the glow, 
And usher out some dying day 

Of long ago. 

At harvest even, when all was still, 
Hear voices, and far lowing, till 
The drowsy air had drunk its fill 

Of gentle sounds, 
And daylight slept beyond the hill, 
And the low, yellowing moon 'gan swell 

From the wooded grounds. 

A mirror lake, in fairy blue, 
Winds from my fancy into view ; 
And far across, it seems that you 

Await the gale, 
That soon will start and bring you to, 

With leaning sail. 

But circumstances, strange to say. 
Don't come around in just that way, 
So I must be content to stay 

Here in the city. 
And sing my pessimistic lay 

Of scoff and pity. 

So, in the midst of city sin. 

With Dutch and Dago, French and Finn, 

31 



All "rushing growlers " out and in, — 

Babel nation ' 
In roar and rumble I begin 

My occupation. 

The room I 'm writing in is small , 

The children talk, and laugh, and squall ; 

It 's home though, — that 's the best of all — 

So I don't mind it: 
If there's another charm withal, 

1 fail to find it. 

Four stories up above the ground, 
You 'd think I couldn't hear a sound ; 
But I 'd be happy if I found 

One lullful minute. 
When I might feel a bit profound. 

And make sense in it. 

The roar and rumble grinds and grows, — 
Car gongs, confusion, — " Po — ta — t-o-e-s ! " 
The rush of trains, grind organ woes, 

The smell of beer. 
Loud-rattling trucks, and "Cash old clothes! 

East! do you hear? 

And still the children laugh and sing, 
Until I set them ciphering : 
They work a while, until they ring 
Their tempers up, 

32 



/\s\^&$ 1 fe«^ 



Then, muddle-brained, to me they bring 
Their bitter cup. 

They think I 'm mean to make them work. 
And tell how Alderman O'Rourke 
*' Allows his Hennessey to shirk 

All he durn pleases, 
And lets him play all day in the park, 

Just 'cause he teases." 

But soon they laugh at all that 's said, 

And hit each other on the head, 

And yell and screech like fractious dead 

In the devil's pound ; 
And all because they know I dread 

The slightest sound. 

They 're children though, and wanton faction 
Gives them some empty satisfaction ; 
And if it drives you to distraction. 

So much more fun: 
Just let them see it in your actions. 

And they '11 keep on. 

Sometimes I sit for hours and pine 
About this prosy life of mine, 
As if the world were in combine 

Against my pleasure, 
Still swearing I can't write a line 

For lack of leisure. 



Still, tending to its own affairs, 
The busy world ignores my cares, 
And friends are busy, too, with theirs, 

And none of mine, 
And days pass by me unawares 

Without a line. 

Then of a sudden, something said, 
Or better, something thought, or read. 
Sets me a-going in my head 

Like all creation ! 
Till I come to again, half dead, 

For more vacation. 

And then I mood about my health, 
And grumble that I have no wealth 
To trans me from these scenes of filth 

Back to the West ! 
My trunk has dwindled to a twelfth ! 

I must have rest ! 

But when I'm in the rhyming mood, 
My poverty, and bachelorhood. 
Have no effect for bad or good, 

Unless the latter, 
So I won't loiter here to brood 

About the matter. 

And why repine. East ? Better times 
Are sure to come, when eager dimes 

34 



Will answer to my ready rhymes — 
And yet, you know me : 

I would not for the pay of crimes 
Set foot below me. 

Whatever comes, my will is strong. 

I '11 write what suits me, not the throng. 

Let days drag hungrier days along 

Into starvation, 
I shall not force a single song 

To suit the fashion. 

If what contents me please another. 
And he would be its foster-father, 
To print it, unchanged, altogether, 

As I'd direct him, 
He might imburse me as a brother, 

And I respect him. 

Now in this philosophic fit 

I quite forgot how much I 've writ ; 

But I '11 be through now in a bit, — 

Soon as I finish. 
( That sounds like good friend Goddard's wit, 

On the diminish. ) 

But I must twang before I 'm through 
The strings I used to twang for you, 
And if it drags like Greek review, 
Grin, and forbear me : 

35 



I must do what I want to do, 

And you must hear me. 

Time ! I declare ! I'm just ahout 
Run down. I never was right stout. 
Look at me, East. I have no douht 

I ' ve grown much thinner. 
I must be sick. I 'm all played out. 

I — I smell my dinner. 

Good-bye ! Good-bye ! You hear me sobbing? 
My love to Josh and dear old Rubbing, 
Broad-breasted-brother-Bruce a clubbmg, 

Bless his stretched hide. 
And — there ! — I feel a kind of throbbing 

In my inside ! 



ANOTHER TO EASTIE. 

Hello Old East ! I span the pen 
To scribble you some lines again, 
Though up to date I've no such den 

To warm my zeal. 
As I 've enlarged on now and then 

As my ideal. 

Imagine, now, we 're out at sea. 
The natural place for you and me, 



And let our destination be 

New York, whimback, 

As strangers, how impatiently 
We pace the deck. 

For we have read so much concerning 
The city's culture, art, and learning. 
That we 've looked on to our sojourning 

For some years past : 
And now we rise the morrow morning 

To live at last. 

At early morning, o'er the rail 

We lean and watch each gleaming sail, 

And drink the freshness from the gale 

With eager lips. 
Or wave our handkerchiefs to hail 

The passing ships. 

At evening now the unclean gale 
Blows round the sun a murky veil ; 
While many a dark and smoky sail 

Glides slowly by, 
And distant steamboats moan and wail 

Along the sky. 

Now through the Narrows, past the forts, 
And in the great bay, lined with ports. 
Where craft of many shapes and sorts, 
With solemn speed, 

37 



AsLej °i ^ej 



Move swiftly toward each other's thwarts, 
Yet never heed. 

Look where the hill divides in two, 
And shows the darkening ocean through. 
See sails cheer up the gloomy blue, 

Far, far away. 
Here, lingering, whisper to the view, 

"Farewell, Osea!" 

"Farewell ; but soon shall we return, 
When trifling pleasures sickening turn, 
And all our heavy souls shall yearn 

To be with thee ; 
To see, and hear, and love to learn 

Thy charms, sea ! " 

While still across the rail we lean. 
In deep communion with the scene, 
The dark hills slowly intervene ; 

And still the sea 
Is breaking, breaking, all unseen, 

'Round you and me. 

Still where the red sun closed his eye. 
And streaked along the glowing sky, 
The dark clouds catch the rays that fly 

Till all are gone ; 
And now they watch the daylight die. 

And night come on. 

38 



As twilight fades and dies away, 
The pale moon brightens in the bay, 
While twinkling stars come out to play 

In the chill night air. 
And lights come shimmering on their way 

From everywhere. 

See lining all the dark'ning shore. 
Great ships of commerce, state, and war, 
Whose thousand naked masts implore. 

With outstretched arms, 
To join the moonlit clouds that soar 

Beyond the storms. 

And farther back, confused and dense, 
Dark buildings, squatty or immense. 
Rear like a giant's mouldering fence 

Against the sky ; 
And on where deeper glooms commence, 

They blur and die. 

Silent, conspicuous, and grand. 
Like some ship from a holy land, 
Moved swiftly by an unseen hand, 

A steamboat, white. 
Heads seaward from the darkened land. 

Out in the night. 

And now a tug with noise and grind. 
Its black smoke puffing in the wind, 

39 



Ask^3 i ^^$ 



Its train of garbage boats behind, 

Steams out to sea. 
Crime, fleeing from the enlightened mind 

Of times to be. 

Now naked ships, now wharves are passed 
On one of these our ropes are cast ; 
And when the vessel ' s good and fast, 

We go ashore : 
Our trip is done — New York at last — 

The sea no more. 

Day after day the motley crowd. 
Tobacco-mouthed and trouble-bowed, 
The heartless rich, the poor and proud. 

In open fight. 
Win what they can, foul means allowed, 

If hid from sight. 

The unknown great, the over-rated. 
The groveller, and the elevated, 
The sterling worth, the showy plated, 

Healthy or shattered. 
Like grain and chaff unseparated. 

By Fortune scattered. 

Just watch them as they hurry by, 
With hollow, dissipated eye. 
The smart, the dull, the mean, the sly, 
Children and sires, 

40 



All rushing on to gratify 

To-night's desires. 

And many a bar-sponge, soaked and fed, 
The fat rolls creased beneath his head, 
His belly like an annexed shed, 

Securely hung, 
His legs from interference spread. 

Waddles along. 

Year after year they flood their sewers. 
Until they bloat like German brewers ; 
And still the sloppy liquor lures. 

And still they follow. 
Till, human hogs, no pride endures. 

And low they wallow. 

Along the streets you see the fruits 

In homeless, blank-eyed, staggering brutes. 

Gangrened and rotten to the roots 

With drink and crime. 
Each a sad cancer that pollutes 

The face of Time. 

Sometimes, with stumbling steps careered, 
A drunken she, bloat-faced and bleared, 
Her rags with gutter-mud besmeared, 

Her face with gleet, 
By neither sense nor instinct steered, 

Moves down the street. 



41 



Hooting and jeering for the devil's sake, 
Buckets in hand, the hoodlums take 
Their noisy way along the wake 

Of human sinning, 
Nor aught ashamed that there they make 

Their young beginning. 

The sight of * * cops ' ' will still the noise, 
And awe, but not dispel the boys, 
Who wait until the big convoys 

Move with their show, 
Then follow in the keenest joys 

That hoodlums know. 

But not each boy who thus behaves, 
Will end his life with bawds and knaves, 
For human honor oftener saves 

Than crime is taught, 
But such scenes are the early graves 

Of manly thought. 

And children, raised as most are here, 
Where right and wrong are never clear. 
And reputation none too dear. 

Soon go astray. 
Used to its sights, they seldom fear 

The downward way. 

The dissipated crowd at nights, 
Parading in the glaring lights, 

42 



To me the saddest of street sights, 
Draws no attention. 

So common are the loose delights, 
Few dare to mention. 

There, brazen in the lewd parade, 

The wanton, once a little maid, 

Still young, perhaps, but soon to fade, 

Refall, corrode. 
Walks shameless with some renegade 

To Sin's abode. 

Still, girls of every age and size 
Run on the streets, and compromise 
What modesty we may surmise 

Was theirs by birth. 
How many, think you, ever rise 

To any worth? 

And mothers, degenerate in their tastes. 
Prefer the gratitude of beasts, 
And all their sick affections waste 

In poodle kissing. 
And lively children, once displaced, 

Are always missing. 

Whatever window — and they're few — 
I 'm writing near, and looking through, 
A brick wall flattens on my view 
Across the way, 

43 



Of patcH design, but "Something new," 
The owners say. 

Most architects here vaguely clutch 

At any symbol, Greek or Dutch, 

Which, made of tin, won't cost too much, 

But, boldly placed, 
Will show some master's able touch, 

And owner's taste. 

Old mansions, crumbling to decay, 
Tell of good taste long passed away. 
Some, new, foretell that better day 

We long to see, 
When wealth will cease to buy display. 

Or cease to be. 

Some show with narrow fronts erect, 
How painfully the architect 
Designed to draw some good effect 

Out of distortion ; 
And here and there you may detect 

Some pleasing portion. 

Fantastic office towers rise 

To giddy heights up through the skies, 

All craning for the greatest size 

At the smallest cost, 
Till ancient, simple Beauty flies. 

And art is lost. 



44 



AsUf 



w5 



Monotonously vulgar styles 

Flank the loud streets in rigid piles, 

Blocks upon blocks, miles upon miles, 

League after league. 
Long, dim, reverberating aisles. 

Thronged with fatigue. 

No native workman drives the nail, 
And sings along the scaffold rail, 
Or stops to give that hearty hail 

We love to hear ; 
But low-browed Latins rush the pail. 

And swig their beer. 

•And ah, they find no flowery homes ; 

But vaulted streets of catacombs. 

Where poor like rats, and rich like gnomes, 

Sleep when they must, 
Stifled in close, gas-lighted tombs 

Of noise and dust. 

The poor, where churches rise in gloom. 
Read "Welcome." — Yes, to standing room; 
For shabby folk should not presume 

To sit in pews : 
They 're for the rich, who can assume 

The heavy dues. 

The standard being flash and cash. 
The shabby poor are counted trash ; 

45 



So all aspire to "cut a dash," 

Ev'n though they rue it, 

And live on counter lunch and hash 
So they can do it. 

Most people live here but to show \ 

How rich they are, how much they know. 
And each thing bought must help to throw 

The light desired ; 
And when they get it, out they go 

To be admired. 

This wealth, to which they all aspire, 
Fans at the flames of hot desire. 
Consumes their virtues in the fire, 

And steels their hearts. 
Till they love none, and none admire 

Their soulless parts. 

Here you may see the grizzly tramp. 
With red face like a danger lamp. 
His matted whiskers hanging damp 

With drying beer : 
And here you see grim Hunger's cramp. 

And Sorrow's tear. 

Here loll in cabs the pampered wealth ; 
There families breathe the fumes of filth ; 
While dread Disease steals on with stealth 
And saps them both, 

46 



AsUs°rfe65 

To make room for another tilth 
Of ranker growth. 

There is a great deal more to say 
Of jewelled rich in swell array, 
Contrasted with their brother clay, — 

Of parks, and drives, 
Where people rest, and children play. 

And health survives. 

The poor man takes his children there 
To breathe the pleasant woodland air, — 
The only profit he may share 

With outraged pride. 
Who, in hot summer, live somewhere 

By the seaside. 

Poor little children, helpless, weak, — 

Oh Eastie, how can I be meek, 

When from their eyes the hollows speak, 

"Blessed are we," 
And sunken chest and hungry cheek, 

*'Come unto me." 

Ah, why will men flock to the city. 
Where Sin is sought, and Filth is witty, 
And Truth will shock them without pity, 

If they be pure, 
And they themselves grow harsh and gritty 

Beyond endure. 

47 



New York ! bar-room of dissipation ! 
Ball-room of frenzied fascination ! 
Eyesore and glory of the nation ! 

With all thy blots,— 
From all thy beastly degradation 

Are spared some spots. ^ 

Oh for the fields ! the lanes ! the sky ! 
With fleets of cloud-ships sailing by,— 
To be a bird ! and fly, and fly, 

0' er lake and river, 
Away, away, until I die ! 

And on forever. 



STANZAS OF A COMMUNION. 

Almighty God, in gratitude I come, 
Though frail of thought, and dumb. 
Craving that mercy shown 

Through all these years when I have walked alone. 
Though long ungrateful, now before Thy throne, 
Such gratitude I own. 
As only Thou, God, can understand. 
Take Thou my erring hand 

Aid lead me to the light when darkness gathers 'round 
the land. 

Thou knoweejt the difference between life and creed. 
Doctrine is but a weed. 
That winds itself among 

48 



AsLes 1 I^e^ 

The strings of reason, delicately strung. 

Thou knowest their discord with my pen and tongue 

In all the songs I 've sung. 

But now my faith is in the coming years ; 

And gladly, without tears, 

I bid farewell to gloomy creeds that justified my fears. 

Why did I stay to reason with mute Fate, 
Till fears, fast growing great. 
First darkened hope, then faith? 
I found me on my way to meet sad Death, 
With power, but little will, to draw the breath 
I scarce preferred to death. 
But now my faith is in the coming years, 
When kindness, and not jeers, 
Shall wean us from the subtle creeds that designate 
God's heirs. 

Not through these tedious years have I alone 
Stood pondering at Thy throne; 
Nor in the growing gloom 
That fast devoured the darkness of my doom 
Have I alone longed for some hope to loom 
Out of my dead hope's tomb. 
But now my faith is in the coming years; 
The glad, millennial years ; 

When men shall see how wrong it was to circumscribe 
their prayers. 

Why will men tell me I am cursed with doubt? 
Though thousands figure out 



That Thou art less than Thine, 
Crowds cannot make fictitious wrath divine. 
Thou art still God ; and no man should assign 
Thy limits, Lord, nor mine. 
Let me have patience. In the coming years 
The darkness disappears. 

And they who live in those great days shall not be 
vexed with fears. 

Blessed are they who never question why, 
But hope that by and by, 
When their hard day is done, 
And they lie down in peace at set of sun, 
On the bright morrow they shall meet with one 
They loved, but who is gone. 
For ah, they know that in the coming years 
There shall be no more tears. 
And they shall see Thy kind, sweet face, and Thy 
home shall be theirs. 

Then let me not in vain conceit presume 
To reason out my doom, 
More than to idly scan 
The thousand different destinies of man ; 
For since the course of time with Thee began. 
Thou hast obscured Thy plan. 
That we might live in hope, and humbly share, 
Each as his strength can bear, 
The burden of misfortune with the least of its 
despair. 

50 



So is my lot the lot of all mankind. 

And we, though future-blind, 

Paint pictures of the day 

It pleases us to feel not. far away. 

So let me live that while I watch and pray, 

I cheer the long delay ; 

And should joy never come to me below, 

Give me Thy peace to know 

That in the Great Hereafter I shall find it where I go. 

Thou knowest it all ; Oh why should I rehearse 
Thus, in my humble verse, 
Thy goodness, gracious Lord? 
For not in my poor language is the word 
That can express to Thee what Thou hast heard 
Deep in my silence stirred. 

Thou knowest my feelings best, for Thou dost bring 
This very song I sing 

Out of the fullness of my soul, Oh Thou my Lord, my 
King. 

So I commit my future life to Thee ; 
And though I cannot see. 
Yet will I always trust 

That Thou wilt lead me where Thou thinkest just. 
And when at last I leave here, as I must. 
May men revere my dust, 
And speak with charity of him whose days. 
Though spent in these strange ways, 
Yet grew a blessing to the world because he sang Thy 
praise. 

61 



A LITTLE BIRD. 

Poor little eyes, look not so scared, 

I 'm not the fiend that peeped and glared 

Along the sights as he prepared 

To end thy song. ^ 

He shall not come now, little bird, 

To do thee farther wrong. 

Down where the trees stand gold and gray 
Against the lingering grief of day, 
He takes his gun and sneaks away 

Into the woods, 
Like some scared thief who dares not stay 

To claim his goods. 

There, there, I know pain racks thy breast. 
And Death knocks hard to be thy guest, 
But soon shall come a happier rest 

On some sweet shore. 
Where beasts, nor men, nor Death molest 

For evermore. 

There, it is over ; seek thy home. 
Go, blameless spirit of the dumb. 
And I shall hear thee when I come, 

And thou shalt know 
That he who ached to help thee some 

Was not thy foe. 

And so I place thee in the ground, 
Where thy poor, bleeding form I found, 
52 



nAskes °f fees 

And build o'er thee a little mound 

Of silent clay, 
And plant some drooping flowers around, 

And go away. 

Oh Thou Who gave the little birds, 
Whose songs are sweeter than our words. 
Teach me such humble, simple chords 

Of modest thought. 
That in the lessons life affords 

I learn all that I ought. 



"IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND." 

Here let me linger by the wild seashore, 
Alone with Thee, to Whom the mighty roar 
Sounded Thy praises through the ages past. 
Proclaims them still, and will proclaim at last. 
Now, at Thy mute, unquestionable will, 
The deep gloom gathers, and the winds are still; 
And all the fearful energies of space 
Draw up their chariots for the mighty race. 
Silent they roll along the scowling heaven : 
Now breathless wait till Thy command be given. 
The frightened sea-birds, screaming up the bay. 
Seek shelter where their echoes died away. 
Still, wide-expanding, rolls the mighty sea. 
Its thousand voices still proclaiming Thee. 
Hushed is the world, — now balmy breezes blow, 
Faintly at first, but gathering as they go. 

53 



A distant rumbling, awful and profound, 
Dies far away, and stills the world around. 
Now while the last reverberations die 
Along the vaulted windows of the sky, 
The heavens crack ! forth from the fissures fly 
Illumined streaks, and kindle all the sky ! ^ 
The winds increase. With every flaming lance 
The heavens rattle and the glooms advance. 
Faster and faster down the quaking course 
The tempests thunder with increasing force. 
Louder and louder roar the foaming waves, 
The lightning flashes and the tumult raves. 
Now torrents deluge all the flooded scene, 
And deep the muffled thunder rolls between. 
Across the ravaged land the lightnings spread, 
Trees stand an instant, and again are hid. 
The rain, deserting, follows with the wind : 
It hurries on and leaves the flood behind ; 
Yet still it sprinkles, slower still, and slow. 
And swollen torrents seek the sea below ; 
While puffing winds, all out of breath, appear, 
With clouds and sunshine bringing up the rear. 



NEW YORK AND THE HUDSON. 

Hail ! mighty Tomb, once more dull morning breaks 

Upon the stupor of a million souls. 
Ah, lonely city, my impatience aches 

To run from thee beyond the farthest poles. 
My footsteps echo down thy stony streets, 

54 



"Farewell, farewell," they say, and my heart beats. 
Hail ! mighty River. Lo, from where I stand. 

On the high point of thy proud Palisades, 
I see thy winding bosom, still and grand, 

Flow far away in morning mists and shades ; 
Where quiet distance dreams in purple glades, 

And spirit sails suggest that ever on 
The world grows brighter as the future fades. 

Farewell, no charms can hold me, — I am gone 



FROM THE SPANISH. 

I. 

And then there appeared in her eyes a tear. 
At my lips a phrase of pardon. 

But her eyes were dried by cruel Pride, 
And my lips still held their burden. 

I go my way, she hers. 

But love is long and deep. 
"Oh why," I say, "did I pause that day?' 

And she, "Why did I not weep?" 



II. 

For a look, a world. 

For a smile, a heaven. 
For a kiss, I know not what. 

But were it mine, 'twere given. 

55 



III. 

Sighs return to the air and are not. 

Back to the sea the salt tears flow. 
But tell me, woman, when love is forgot, 

Where does it go ? 



ART AND NATURE. 

Unnerved one day, and sad and sick at heart, 

I snatched my hat and sought the open air. 
In vain I 'd racked the last resource of art 

To tell in verse the depth of some despair; 
Swiftly I walked, I cared not why nor where ; 

And as I went, tore in a thousand bits 
The worthless remnant of the rhymed affair 

That cost my nerves, and overtaxed my wits. 

"Ah me," I thought, "where are the benefits?"" 
The sun went down. The stars in silence came. 

And looked at me ; and it was dark and still. 
I could just see the delicate, slender flame 

Of the new moon, retiring o' er the hill, 

I thought of God ; and all was dark and still. 



COMMUNIONS. 

I. 

Thou Who canst make me what I most would be, 
I love to consecrate my lines to Thee, 

56 



I love to praise Thee, — Oh, to sing Thy praise 
In worthy manhood, and in gentle ways, 
Be half my life; — the other half to do 
The greatest good that Thou shalt turn me to. 
Though cold the crowd, and hard to entertain, 
The good may hear, the wise will not complain. 
There waits some sympathy for every cause, 
Most for the just, who work without applause. 

II. 

Almighty God, Thou glorious King of kings. 
Eternal Ruler of unnumbered worlds, 
That through vast ages in yon pathless heaven 
Pursue their awful course in harmony! 
Oh wondrous Being, God of every race, 
To whom a million souls this moment look 
With sweet, confiding hope, — look Thou on me. 
Stretch forth Thy hand, Oh God of love, and here, 
While evening shades prevail, and deeper gloom 
Steals on the world, speak to my waiting soul. 



He Who provides for little birds, 

And gives them tongues to sing, 
Who spreads the grass for helpless herds, 

And shades the cooling spring, 
He in His love will not forget 

His children must be fed. 
And when our board with thanks is set, 

Will grant our daily bread. 
57 



MY MOTHER. 

Child of the wind, I passed my early days 

In solitary strolls and sweet content. 

Well known to me were all sequestered ways, 

Where I might go and not feel indolent. 

The world was new, and all its wide extent 

An open hook, whose leaves were ever turning. 
• The more I saw, the farther on I went, 

Till, vexed with thoughts and premature discerning, 
Content gave way too soon to strong desire for learning. 

Brooks learned to know me, and the modest flowers 
Hid in the grass as I passed their habitude. 
And in green thickets, cool with secret bowers, 
I crept and watched the catbird's hungry brood. 
And oft in depths of woodland solitude. 
Where towered the trees like giants o' er my head, 
I stopped and listened, fearful to intrude 
On the hushed slumbers of the ancient dead, 
Of whose wild deeds and myths I, like a boy, had read. 

Out nutting all alone I sometimes heard 
Quick rustling in the autumn leaves around, 
Caused by some busy squirrel, or songless bird. 
Or frost-bit nut in dropping to the ground. 
Instinctively I turned whence came the sound. 
And something moved behind me — two — and three, 
Until I shuddered, and looked all around, 
Expecting something from behind each tree 
To peep with grinning face, and poke sly fun at me. 

58 



I dreamed of greatness ; and each next success 
Lifted me up, and set my aim the higher, 
I schooled, reschooled, but in the practic mess 
Lost time, and poise, and half my former fire. 
My teachers taught me I must not aspire. 
But dig, that I might some day earn, and make. 
Who, when I left their deep scholastic mire. 
To sing and study for pure pleasure's sake, 
Misunderstood me for a worthless rhyming rake. 

There comes a time when we must lose our friends, 
Or try their friendship ; and when I was grown 
Vexed with advice that ridiculed my ends, 
I left their ruts for highways of my own. 
One withering flower I loved, but she was gone. 
She who was always patient, even with me. 
My mother, oh my mother, — how alone — 
How sad and lonely when I long for thee. 
And think of all the weary years that yet must be. 

I had a dream last night, and even now 
My mind refuses to be reconciled. 
'Tis so confused, I cannot tell just how. 
But seems I was at first a little child. 
The day was just like this — so calm and mild 
It seemed some special blessing in the land. 
My mother came and kissed me, and she smiled 
As on we walked together, hand in hand. 
And spake no words, yet seemed to understand. 

She led me on, and when there came sharp stones 
Took me in arms, but seemed to walk with pain ; 

59 



AsW ''f i^«i$ 



For in her breast I felt the stifled groans, 
Until she stood me in the clear again. 
And then we came where trees were dark with rain, 
And seemed to me I 'd been that way before. 
But long before the day began to wane 
My little feet were very tired and sore, i 

And so she took me in her arms once more. 

The grumbling sky grew black, and frightful forms 
Loomed in the lightning flashes, and were gone. 
They seize my head and hurl me through the storms; 
And round I whirl through space, and on, and on — 
Stop — stop me — — ! Still rolling on, and on. 
Past clanging spheres and worlds of wild-eyed dead, 
Till, black as death, eternal midnights yawn — 
I plunge — I strike — : beside my whirling bed 
My mother, leaning, soothes my fevered head. 

I must have fallen asleep once more, and dreamed ; 
For still I heard the rolling worlds and stars. 
Still growing fainter in my ears, it seemed, 
Like midnight rushing of the distant cars ; 
Now singing like a thousand soft guitars. 
Faint, and more faint, till far away, methought, 
I heard the tinkling of the tiny stars. 
That danced in dazzling millions as they wrought, 
Through ringing stillness, those faint sounds I caught. 

And then it seemed I heard my mother sing. 
Like some sweet angel voice, and far away. 
About the little bird that came in Spring, 

60 



And sang so sweetly at the dawn of day. 
And when the last sad accents died, I lay 
Weeping, to think my little bird had flown. 
Again that voice from Heaven seemed to say : 
"Poor mamma's little bird will soon be grown, 
To fly away, and leave her all alone." 

"We stood indoors and watched the busy rain, — 
I and my sister and our baby brother. 
It crept so sadly down the window pane, 
That as in love we drew us close together, 
And put our little arms round one another, 
My sister leaned her head on mine and wept. 
And then a door was opened, and my motjier 
Lay in a dark sick-room where watch was kept ; 
And solemn women whispered that she slept. 

This changed ; and the scared darkness seemed to 

cower 
Behind the black, wet trees that dripped between. 
And the warm sun burst through the misty shower. 
That fell like spray upon the sparkling scene. 
Another shift : no windows intervene, 
And it was later morning, and so bright 
That little birds chirped loudly from the green. 
And butterflies were fluttering in the light. 
They flew, I flew, time flew, and it was night. 

And winding paths turned off" in all directions. 
Some disappeared in scrambling crowds and mire, 

61 



And some seemed lost in misty recollections, 
That passed them by on grounds but little higher ; 
Where loomed dim shapes of consequences dire, 
That beckoned me to follow, and then hid. 
And peeped so at me with their eyes of fire 
That though I felt my inner voice forbid, ' 
I stepped the slippery path, and would have slid. 

Then supperless to bed ; but not to sleeping ; 
For soon that well-known footstep on the stair : 
My mother came, her sweet face wet with weeping, 
And spread her bounty on the bedroom chair. 
Ah, many a time I ate my supper there. 
And told of all the wondrous things I 'd seen, 
Exaggerating how, and when, and where, 
V/ith all the license of a bard serene. 
And bites and swallows choked like interludes 
between. 

Her grateful eyes no more shall meet my own 
With glad approval and maternal pride. 
Through weary life I take my way alone, 
And try so hard to feel well satisfied ; 
But life is oh so long, the world so wide, 
That though in dreams I see her o'er and o'er, 
When shall I turn me from life's sad seaside, 
And meet my mother on that farther shore. 
Where I may be with her, at rest forevermore. 



62 



THE DEGENERATE. 

They 's no nse a-talkin', us Hoosiers is green. 

What we lack is the citified knack 
Of bein' real wicked without bein' mean. 

I jack ! I know fer a fac'. 
Ef you'd only a-saw all the doins' I seen 
At the opries, et cetery, you 'd ketch whut I mean. 
An' fellers, I swan ! ef my pile wuzn't lean, 

By crack ! I'd wanto go back. 

The wimmun wuz rigged jest to worry the min. 

My — oh ! but wuzn't they though ! 
With their fancy silk corsets an' perty white skin, 

Jest as low as they dast fer to show. 
Did I look? Course I looked. Turn your head ef you 

kin, 
Shet your eyes an' cote Scripcher, an' say it's a sin, 
But the first thing you know you 're a-lookin' agin. 

Can't go agin natcher you know. 

I seen Thingabobski, too, one night — 

I sware ! you 'd ort-a-ben there. 
Folks says he 's a wonder, but that ain't quite 

No-where near to compare. 
I wouldn't a-minded his play in' a mite. 
But I see right away the man wuzn't right; — 
Why I never in all my life see sech a sight — 

I dee-clare ! he wuz' nuthin' but hair. 

The people clapped hands an' waited a bit. 
An' a whole gang got up an' sang. 



An' then this hyere feller fell into a fit. — 

Gee — whang — lippitty — bang ! 
Folks got so excited they couldn't sit; 
An' I got up, an' ef I didn't git! 
An' I '11 bet you that idjut 's a-goin' it yit 

With his gol-dang pi-anner herangue. ' 

It strikes me these musical folks, as a rule, 

Takin' 'um jes' as they come 
The whole world over, is mostly a fool, — 

Clean plum daffy, I gum. 
Putt a hairy I-talyern on a pi-anner stool 
To playin' them toons they call icicle school, 
An' they rolls their eyes round like a sun-struck 
mule. 

An' yit some can't fiddle ner drum. 



AN APPEAL FOR THE ARMENIANS. 

Long I 've looked in trust to England to espouse the 

Christian cause. 
Vainly hopeful of the time to sing her well-deserved 

applause. 
All the world has watched and waited. Christendom 

has hoped in vain. 
Still the daily news of slaughter swells the number of 

the slain. 
Every day a band of martyrs from an old and honored 

race ; 

64 



Every day before all Europe grows the mountain of 

disgrace. 
Fifty thousand helpless Christians slain by order of one 

man, 
For they chose the Holy Bible to the blood-stained 

Alkoran. 
Thousands, suffering from starvation, shiver round the 

crowded fire, 
Silent, watchful every minute, lest they wake the 

sultan's ire ; 
While the generous "Western World outside stands 

knocking at the door, 
With a wealth of food and clothing in her ships along 

the shore. 
But their king refuses entrance as he wipes the bloody 

knife. 
And, before her dying parents, gives the little child 

to wife. 
And he laughs in cold derision at the pleadings of the 

world, 
Where the jealousy of nations keeps the flags of battle 

furled. 
For the tyrant of the many wives enjoys the sounds 

he hears, 
Glad to gratify his lusts, and proud to move the world 

to tears. 

Oh thou patient, blameless people, many a heart this 

side the sea 
Eises from the daily pulse to beat in sympathy with 

thee. 

s 65 



Many a husband feels the anguish, many a mother 

holds her breath, 
Beading of thy wives and daughters forced to horrors 

worse than death. 
And they see thy sacred homes to dens of violation 

turned, i 

Where the shrines of thy devoted love are shamed to 

death, and burned. 
While around thee crowd the nations, big with dignity 

of state, 
Striving with a heathen monarch for the honors of 

debate. 
Jealous, watchful of each other, see them bow and 

scrape with care : 
Fearful of the secret dagger ; quick to use it when 

they dare. 
Verged on righteous war they argue, till they force 

him to explain. 
When, their mission half accomplished, see them strut 

back home again. 
They would help thee, so they tell us, but none dares 

when all object; 
And thy pleadings for protection but insure thee their 

neglect. 
So they leave thee with his promise ; but no sooner 

are they gone. 
Than he pays thy persecutors, and the bloody Vvrork 

goes on. 
Helpless in the hands of heathen ; left by Christians 

to thy cares ; 
For diplomacy itself has failed, and 'tis no fault of 

theirs. 



Friends of such, whate'er your station, God shall 

some day try your creed, 
And your self-control shall choke you when yo\ir 

heart comes home to bleed. 
You shall reason to your own content when He shall 

ask you why, 
In the ready hour of action, vou were waiting idly 

by- 

Would you, if you saw a man assault your wife, or 

kill your cat, 
Pause in both alike to argue, like a well-bred 

diplomat? 
Would you then, for sake of friendship with the mighty 

man you fear. 
Make a virtue of your patience, and pretend you did 

not hear? 
Who shall dare be diplomatic when a woman cries for 

help. 
Shall be scorned of men forever, lower than the lowest 

whelp : 
Doomed by Truth to shame eternal, he shall shine 

with bloody Turks, 
Where the blackest page in history holds his diplo- 
matic works. 

Shame, oh shame, ye powers of Europe, on your 

hypocritic state ! 
You have homage for the mighty ; for the weak yon 

have but hate; 
Yet you call your countries Christian, fighting for the 

Martyr's cross: 

67 



Boil you down to Christ's religion, and behold the 

princely dross. 
Are you civilized as nations ? do you show it in your 

deeds, 
While you watch your brothers butchered by these 

systematic breeds ? ' 

What the use of modern warfare, power and pride of 

kings' command, 
When full fifty thousand Christians perish by a single 

hand? 
Where that old and mighty nation now, that boasts a 

power supreme? 
Is adoption of the helpless not an item of her scheme ? 
No, alas, the poor Armenians have no wealth of daz- 
zling store. 
To effect that strange decorum, sold so many times 

before. 
Theirs is not the rich East Indies, tempting to the 

British greed ; 
If it were, some page in history long had held a 

British deed. 
Theirs no wealth of minor countries, to be watched as 

soon as found ; 
If it were, long years of mortgage now had Anglicized 

the ground. 
Theirs no mines of Venezuela, hardly known to local 

fame, 
Ere the bafflers of the sunset move their boundary line 

to claim ; 
Where, no sooner other mines are found beyond the 

bounding hill, 

68 



,AsW°f fees 

Than the all-begrudging nation moves her limits 

farther still. 
Then she fights if necessary, but in cases like this 

one, 
Stops at show of stately wisdom, and declares her 

duty done. 
From the taking of her island, to the charging of the 

Boer, 
This, the mightiest state in history, never fought a 

righteous war; 
Where the right was half the battle, and a trust in 

God the rest, 
And they won, none could remember how, but God 

knew what was best. 
Oh thou proud and boastful people, vain of e' en thine 

empty pride ; 
Self-made lords of half the world, and coveters of all 

beside; 
You who place the heads of families, unimproved from 

age to age, 
O'er the freedom of your manhood, to be heard above 

the sage : 
You, to whom had been the glory, now to you the 

just disgrace ; 
You who had the power to save them, turn, oh turn 

and hide your face. 
You will force the honest settler from the home himself 

has made, 
But you dare not help a people with their monarch's 

debts unpaid. 



AsWs °f fees 

Would to God some manly feeling stirred a statesman, 
or a king, 

Who, despite the threats of Russia, dares to do the 
manly thing ! 

Why should Russia, more than Turkey — any half-bar- 
baric state — 

In the face of such as England still control Armenia's 
fate? 

Is her brutal exile system too monotonous to bear, 

That she joins her force with Turkey for a new enjoy- 
ment there? 

He who holds in trust the power, and permits this 
shameful work, 

Will be held to task through centuries for a coward, 
and a shirk. 

For the God who strives to teach us by the task that 
must be done, 

Sends the man ordained to do it, as He sent His mar- 
tyred Son ; 

As He sent our country's father to reward our 
righteousness, 

Lincoln in the time of trouble, Hamilton in time of 
peace. 

He, the lofty man of genius who shall rise above the 
clod 

And perform the will of Heaven, shall be deemed a 
son of God. — 

Shall be looked upon as a chosen for the duties of the 
day, 

And his name be held in reverence when his soul has 
passed away. 

70 



Ob whoe'er ye be that bear Him, wbetber bigb in 

power or no ; 
Ye wbo from tbe tbrones of Europe view the modest 

world below ; 
Ye wbo feel tbe man witbin you struggling to assert 

tbe rigbt : 
Marsbal on tbe plains of justice, and in name of God 

unite ! 
Witb one motive fixed in Heaven, that forgets all 

private gain. 
Let us do His will AVbo sent us, tbat He send us not 

in vain. 

Y^e wbo, great in power by nature, occupy our seats 

of state, 
Sbow us wby we sent you tbitber ; cease, ob cease tbe 

long debate. 
Every boy we send to college learns to use tbe pom- 
pous pbrase : 
Isot to sucb, but men of action, comes tbe everlasting 

praise. 
Y'ou bave feebly recommended, in sucb tones as none 

will beed, 
Tbat tbey take decisive action, w^ben tbey 're ready to 

proceed ; 
But is tbat tbe tone for freemen, wbo, a montb or two 

ago, 
Sided witb a weaker country, and declared tbe strong 

tbeir foe ? 
Ob my people, friends of freedom, can we not by 

strength of voice 

71 



Shame the cowardice of England till her conscience 

leaves no choice? 
Till she must neglect her interests, and remembering 

God's alone, 
In the face of all the Eussians hurl the tyrant from 

the throne? 
Can we not, oh ye my people, if she choose the 

righteous course, 
Offer in God's name to help her to the limit of our force? 
Oh consider but the helpless, what delay to them must 

cost. 
If we shed our blood to help them, surely more is 

gained than lost. 
There is room for bolder action ere we reach the end 

of sense, 
And the powers will have to hear us when we leave 

them no defense. 
If you argue, use expressions that convey the thoughts 

you mean ; 
Not expand yourselves in pompous clause, with cour- 
tesies between. 
You may yet redeem-your standing in the sight of God 

and man. 
But the weeks are lost in talking, and 'tis time the 

work began. 
May be at this very moment, while we speak the 

awful words. 
Some one sees his helpless sweetheart ravished by the 

heartless Kurds: 
Fiercely now he draws to help her, struggling, calling 

on her name : — 

72 



Bound, Oh God ! secure and helpless, he must see her 

forced to shame ! 
Grind his teeth in frantic frenzy as he hurls the spiteful 

curse ! 
But the rising flames of passion but consume his soul 

the worse. 
Prone he falls upon his temples ; digs his fingers in his 

flesh ; 
Cries aloud to Christ for mercy, tearing wildly at the 

lash; 
And the boiling blood to issue from each hot and 

swollen vein, 
Rushes throbbing through the channels to the flood- 
gates of his brain ; 
Where the tumult of his being is the only sound he 

hears. 
Like the noisy winds of heaven rushing through his 

empty ears. 
Round and round his bulging eyeballs wildly swims 

the sick'ning sight; 
Fainter grow the nerve convulsions ; darker, darker 

grows the night : 
Quick the sound of loud explosion runs a quiver 

through his frame. 
And he gasps for breath to answer as he hears her call 

his name. 
But the heavy world is sinking through the awful 

depths of space ; 
And he feels the light of Heaven shining on his up- 
turned face ; 



73 



Sees the gates of Heaven open ; hears the angel voices 

ring, — 
Lo, the hallowed band of martyrs, Christ Himself, and 

God the King ! 
And he takes his place among them, with his loved 

ones by his side, 
Where, in robes of simple whiteness, shines his pure 

and spotless bride. 
Vacant places wait aronnd him for the martyrs that 

shall fall, — 
Far beneath, in outer darkness, burns the writing on 

the wall. 
Slowly fades the scene beneath him, like a dream of 

long ago. 
And he sees the peaceful Jordan, where the flowers 

eternal grow. 
Softly now the sounds of music, wafted from celestial 

choirs, 
Wander through the hush of Heaven, with the swells 

of golden lyres ; 
And the bliss of life eternal, where all sorrows pass 

away, 
Has absorbed the past and future in one everlasting 

day. 

God protect the poor Armenians, if my hurried song 
shall fail 

To arouse one friend of freedom on the bloody Turkish 
trail. 

Oh that still among our people were the bards of yes- 
terday, 

74 



Ask f fees 

Who, like golden rays at evening, faded from the 

night away. 
How might they, in mighty chorus, sing the battle- 
songs of right, 
Call their fellow-men together, and inspire their souls 

with might ! 
And if still there lives a poet, who aspires to honest 

fame. 
Let him sing what I 've attempted ; let the world 

revere his name. 
And where'er he leads his people in the cause of God 

and man, 
He who sings this song shall follow, though he do but 

what he can. 



A PLOWBOY LULLABY. 

My little plowboy is tired to-night, 

And he nods in his high-chair so, 
That he must have finished his appetite, 
All ready to go to the land of light, 

Where the sleepy plowboys go. 

Then come with father, the big plow-man, 
And we '11 sit in the twilight gray. 

While our dear little mother, as fast as she can. 
Is clearing the supper away. 

And she '11 come too, when her work is through, 
For a shepherdess, I am told, 

75 



Finds the little sheep that have fallen asleep, 
And carries them into the fold. 

Slowly the light fades out of the west, 

Where the long, dark furrows run, , 

And each little cloud is a floating nest, 
Moving too slowly to follow the rest. 
That follow the golden sun. 

Then come with father, the big plow-man, 

Till he puts your nightie on, — 
But we '11 have to be as quick as we can. 

Or the nests will all be gone; 
And then wouldn't it be too bad, you see, 

To be left behind to-night. 
And miss a day of such pleasant play 

In the beautiful land of light. 

See where the first star blinks and peeps 

Over the orchard hill. 
All through the long, dark night he keeps 
His silent watch, while the great world sleeps, 

And the farmer's voice is still. 

But far in the land of light, they say. 
The stars are so near the ground, 

You can see all the plowing as plain as day 
For miles and miles around. 

For they plow all night in the land of light, 
In the fields of blue and gold, 

76 



And the furrows run to the rising sun 
As they did m the days of old. 

Hark ! how the early robin sings 

Her last good-night to thee ; 
And dreams of the tiny pairs of wings, 
And the mouths of her featherless little things, 
And all the joys that summer brings, 

And her mate that is to be. 

So my little plowboy drifts afloat 

In the tiny cloud that waits 
In the failing light, like a golden boat, 

Over the pasture gates. 
Darker, and darker they seem to grow. 

Till they anchor one by one. 
Under the lee of the slumber sea ; 

And the voyage of day is done. 



NEXT DAY. 

Ever' body 'cep' but Ed 

Ain't got up yet out a-bed. 

We 're nain't goin' to have no more 

Picnics, 'cause my papa's sore. 

An' bofe ar brovers groans an' groans, 

Nen turns over iss like stones 

In neir beds, an' ast me please 

Won't I bring nat yeller grease 

77 



To 'um, what my mamma rubs 
On my toes when neir been stubs. 
Nen I bring it, an' ney 're says 
"You're ne bullies' boy ney is." 



LITTLE EDGAR. 

"Noisy little Edgar, 

Come to me," I said, — 
"Don't you know that Reuben 

Is very sick a-bed? 
Don't you know, my little man. 

That when you walk about 
You should go very slow. 
Softly, softly on tip-toe. 

Going in and out ? ' ' 

Generous little Edgar, 

He did just as I said : 
He tip-toed there where Reuben 

Was lying sick in bed, 
And round the room, and back again, 

Seriously all about, 
Very slow, to and fro, 
Softly, softly on tip-toe. 

Out and in and out. 

Gentle little Edgar. 

When mamma spoke he said : 

78 



Askesf 



vsses 



"Sh — !" and raised his finger, 

And shook his little head, 
And peeped out doors where Effie was, 

And whispered all about 
How to go to and fro. 
Softly, softly on tip-toe, 

Going in and out. 

"Precious little Edgar, 

Come to me," I said, 
And patient Reuben laughed so hard 

He fairly shook the bed. 
"Don't you know, my little man. 

That isn't what I meant? 
Run away now and play, — 
You will understand some day." 

And away he went. 



CONCERNING FACES, SNOOTS, ETC. 

Yes an' if you 're make a face, 
Er make a snoot, er swear, — 

Iss at home er nany place. 

Don't make no differnce where, — 

Er holler "Hey ! " er stick your tongue 

Out at folks 'at goes along, 

My mamma says first thing you know 

The p'leece '11 come, an' off you 're '11 go 
Skrait to ne station-house 
In ne control wagon. 



WINTER. 

Watch out dab, fu' we 's a-comin' ! 

Grab on tigbt an' bol' yo' bref ! 
D' ain't no one kin tell what bappm 

Ef sbetu'nto righto' lef. 

Hy eah ! Le' go me dab ! You byeab me ? 

How you s'pose I gwine to steah, 
When you boldin' on me dataway, 

Wif yo' baid agin mab yeah? 

Hey ! You man ! Who on bebime dab? 

Who dat fool a-swingin' tail? 
Ef you don* un'stan' yo' business, 

Bettab swap wiv Zulu Bale. 

Dat you, Zulu? All right! Ready! 

Shove off, niggab ! Let bu' go ! 
Shet yo* mouf dab evabbody, 

Ef you don' wan't full ob snow ! 



SUMMER. 

Black man in de flat-boat, 

Comin' down de rivab, 
Fetcbin' in a fat shoat, 
An' some feesbin' livab. 
Squat yo'se'f to peelin' dab, you lazy Mistab Coon ! 
Don' you know de promis' Ian' '11 be byeab soon? 

80 



Kittle on de cross-pole, 

Singin' 'way hu' troubles; 
Niggahs sneakin' into camp, 
A-totin' vegetubles. 
Lawd-a-massy on mah soul, ef we gits cotched 

a-stealin' ! 
I weesh dat ol' fool slioat out dab 'd heish his on'ry 
squealin' . 

Ovens full a-pone braid. 
In de coals a-cookin' ; 
Chillun watahin' at de mouf, 
Stan' in' roun' a-lookin'. 
Clah yo'se'f away f 'um hyeah, you lazy good-fu'- 

nuffin' ! 
How you s'pose I gwine to cook, youstan'in' roun* 
a-snuffin'? 

G'way an' lemme 'lone now — 

Hyeah ! you Lucius Lee, 
Drap dem yallah roas'in'-yeahs 
An' leave dem crawdads be ! 
Ef you don' quit yo' foolin' now, an* try to 'have 

yo'sef, 
Dah '11 be one niggah in dis camp des mos' nigh beat 
todef! 

Sun a-peepin* thue de trees, 

Laffin' fit to kill,— 
Wondah what de rascal sees 

A-fatt'nin' in de swill? 

« 81 



Hi ! Mistah Turkle-Soup, bettah bat yo' eye, 
Som'pn mighty funny gwine happm by-m-by. 

Dab come de flat-boat, 

Shootin' in to lan\ i 

Hi ! Mistah Fat Shoat, 
Lemme taik yo' ban*. 
Mighty fine day, sub, 'cep' a trifle close, 
Nevah seed a bettah fu' a fine fat roas' . 

Stiddy wiv yo' pole now, — 

Lucius, grab de livah ! 
Golly, man, not dataway, 
You'll drap it in de rivah. 
Ain' you got no natch' al sense? Stiddy wiv de boat- 
Clah de way to glory fu' a big fat shoat ! 



OLD MEMORIES. 

Well, sir, it jest does beat all 

How things changes. Take base ball 

Now, fer instance, an' jest lay 

Ourn alongside this to-day. 

'Tain't the game we ust to play 

Not no more'n nuthin' 'tall. 

An' I'm standin' hyere to say 

I p'fer the proper way. 

Recollec' how you an' me 

An' Buss Blazer an' the rest 

Usttoplay ol' A— B — C? 

82 



Gosh ! take off your coat an' vest ! — 
Choose up sides, er one o' cat,. 
Tap flies, — hyere, gimme the bat! 
Scatter out there, fur's you kin — 
Watch your business — three flies in ! 
Where's the ball at? Hyere you go ! 
Don't be all day 'bout it though. 
There you air! Oh that's a daisy ! 

Quick now, — muffed it. Well I swan ! 
— S'pose you 'low I must be crazy, 

Way I fuss and carry on. 
Why I 've saw you on tip-toe, 

Yellin' 'thall yore lungs an' force. 
Like a young cock try in' to crow, 

Till you've crowed yourse'f clean hoarse. 
'Member how we played an' fit? 
Law, I never kin fergit. 
Them wuz days the like siree 
This generation '11 never see. 
Alluz swimmin' in my eyes — 
Same ol' trees, an' same ol' skies, — 
Same ol' ever'thing, it seems, 
'Ceptn' me 'at sets an' dreams. 

One day las' month I wuz over 
In my brother Dock's ol' clover- 
Field, where his boy Will 'at's ben 
Off to college had some men 
With him from the city, play in' 
This new ball ; an' zi wuz sayin', 
'Tain't no more the ol' time ball 

83 



AsUs * ^^s 



Not no more'n nuthin' 'tall. 

Who'd a-ever thought that game 

Wouldn't a-always ben the same 

This world over, same as then, 

Base ball ferever an' amen ? ' 

Dock he 's 'most ashamed o' Will 

AUuz rigged out fit to kill. 

College pipe, an' college hat, 

College this, an' college that, — 

College tell you jest can't rest. 

Law-me, wisht you 'd see the vest 

That boy wears aroun', — my stars ! 

Pokey-dots, an' stripes, an' bars, — 

'Nough to skeer the very face 

Off a-ever'thing on the place. 

Wears knee pants ! an' foreign socks ! — 

'Pon my word ! I tol* my wife 
You wouldn't b'lieve that boy wuz Dock's, 

Ef you hadn't a-knowed him all his life. 

Well, zi say, Dock happened by, 
Feelin' kind-a-young an' spry, 
Like a ol' man does some days — 
'Cordin' jest to how things lays, 
On yore stumick, ef you 've et 
Hearty fer a couple a-meals — 
You know how a feller feels — 
'Tall 'pends how yore vittuls sets. 
Well, Dock says, says 'e to me : 
"Silas, do you know," says'e, 
"What's ben runnin' thue my head 

84 



Ever sence I tuk to bed 
Las' Fall, with the rheumatiz?" 
""Well, I donno. Dock," I says. 
An' he says, says'e, "OF Hoss," — 

Dock he calls me that fer short, — 
* ' Me an' you has got more moss 

On our backs than what we ort. 
We think," says 'e, "our days is' gone, 
An' that brings these hyere ailments on. 
An' then," says'e, "we grunt an' scold 
About how we 're a-gittin' old. 
It ain't no wonder we git gray 
As long as we ac' thataway. 
An' now," says 'e, without no rest, 
Jest talkin' on like all possessed, 
' ' My women-folks has went away 
To ol' man Sintz's fer the day. 
An* I 'm a-goin' to have a swim." 

"Why, Dock!" says I, "where at?" says I. 
"Why, down below the ol' Dead Limb," 

Says'e. — You recollec', don't you. Hi? 
Well, Hi, we went ; 'cause Dock had came 
Bent on it. No, we didn't go in. 
The years ain't many, but they *ve ben, 
An' things is changed. They ain't the same. 
An' Dock an' me 's ben feelin' bad 
Ever sence. Things seemed so sad 
' Long the ol' river bottoms now. 
Things ain't the same no more, somehow. 

Yes, Hi, I did fergit to tell 
'Bout Will's base ball fixin's. Well, 
85 



Asides "^r feej 

Dock 'splained how they make a ricket 
Out a-three long sticks, an' stick it 
Up at each a-them same places 
Where us youngsters had the bases. 
Then one boy he comes an' stan's , 

By a ricket, bat in ban's, — 
An' sech bats they got — my, oh ! 
But them things is modern though. 
Look like paddles to canoes, 
Like you 've saw young Warder use 
In Mad Kiver an' Buck Crick, — 
Yes, an' young Tom Kirkpatrick, 
He 's got some, er ust to had, 
'Fore canoein' got so bad. 
Well, one youngster takes a bat, 
An' keeps a-retchin out like that, 
So as he kin barely tech 

This hyere ricket. Then some min, 
Gittin' ready-like, to ketch. 

Scatters out as fur 's they kin. 
An' I tell you it 's a sight — 
All them figgers dressed in white, 
Standin' out agin' the green, 
In the ol' hay field, — I swear ! — 
Jest like they wuz painted there. 
Only see it wunst, an' seems 
Like I dremp it in my dreams. 
There wuz Dock an' me alone, 
Layin' there a-lookin' on. 
In the shadder of the trees, 
With a kind-a-lazy breeze 

86 



Jest a-stirrin', 'zif to keep 
From a-droppin' ofif to sleep. 
An' the sky seemed more'n blue, 
Jest like God wuz lookin' through, 
Smilin', like He ust to do. 
Whilst away off 'crost the hill 
Ever' thing seemed ca'm an' still. 
Like it happened long ago. 
An' the hazy atmosphere, 
Where the clouds wuz movin' slow, 
Kind-a-blent what we could see, 
Tell they wuzn't nothin' near, 
'Ceptin' pore ol' Dock an' me, 
Settin' in the shade alone, 
Two ol' men a-lookin' on. 



BILL SOMERS. 

( The scene is laid in the railway station of an 
Ohio town.) 

Raised hy ere? Was you? Don't say so? 
How fur back 's that? Fourties?— Oh ! 
That 's ben up'ards a-right smart 
'Fore my time. But mebbe you 
Knowed somebody I knowed too. 
There's Bill Somers, — 'member Bill? 
Sad-eyed feller, long an' slim, 
Kind-a-bashful? Yes, that's him. 
Come now clos't on thirty year 

87 



Sence they drug him off f 'um hyere. 
Come back? Yes, I b'lieve he will, 
Some day. Nineteen year ol' then : 
Fifty now, an' hyere I ben 
A-lookin' sence I don't know when. 
' Fraid not. Wisht he would though. My ! 
Seems sometimes like I '11 jest die 
A-wishin' fer him. ' Bout so high 
Time his step-dad brung him hyere. 
That's ben forty-some-odd year. 

Folks? Bill's people? They lived East ; 

Daddy rich, — er wuz, at least, 

'Fore he got tuk with consumption. 

'Pears like must a-lost his gumption 

Then, an' splutterin' round to git 

Down South, fer the benefit 

Of his health, he left his lands, 

Et cetery, in a lorier's hands. 

That's 'fore Bill wuz born, now mind, 

Folks jest married, an' as blind 

To this world's ornrarity 

As young folks is ap' to be. 

Young wife, an' this lorier 

Set to hankerin' after her 

From the minute he sot eyes 

On her. * ' S' pose her husban' dies ? ' * 

Lan' sakes ! Why the bare idee 

Sets him plannin', and thinks'e: 

''That there young greenhorn can't pull 

Thue this year — onpossibul ! " 



Asides °f l^^i 



Shore 'nough, 'fore Bill come, he died. 

No will, — nothin ; an' beside. 

There 's his pore young wife down South, 

A-livin' jest from hand to mouth. 

'Cause this lorier 'd writ an' said 

Times wuz hard, an' business dead, 

So 's he 's forced to sacerfice 

Everything, jes' slice by slice, 

Gittin' only 'nough to send 

Her, but said he 'd make a lend 

On the rest, ef she 'd take one. 

La, whut else could she a-done? 

Bill hed came, an' by an' by 

Funds kep' gittin' mighty shy 

'Bout then, an' despair set in. 

Laws-a-mercy ! seems a sin 

Talkin' 'bout it. Well, zi say, 

Couldn't a-ben no other way — 

Boy to keer fer, her a pore 

Sickly widder, — ain't much more 

Lef ' to tell, 'cept that ol' limb 

Talked her into marryin' him. 

Donno much p'tic'lars 'bout 
How they done 'fore he come out 
West hyere, but f 'um what I 've learnt 
Sence, 'pears like Bill's mother weren't 
Keered fer like she 'd ort to a-ben, 
Lived nigh onto two year, then 
Seems like she wuz tuk down sick, 
Got consumpted, an' died quick. 



Somep'm crooked, — don't know whut — 

Anyhow this stingy-gut 

Of a step-dad come out West 

Rather suddent. All the rest 

You know well as me, I s'pose, — 

An' lots better, fur 's that goes, 

Bein' older. Him? No; my! 

Bill wuz only 'bout so high 

When they brung him out. Who? Me? 

No, I couldn't a-ben more 'n three. 

All 'at I kin bring up now 

'Bout them airly days is how 

Bill's ol' step-dad ust to tetch 

That pore boy up when he 'd ketch 

Him with me ; fer which said same 

Neither on us wuz to blame, 

Seein' how all boys likes their game. 

Bill's dad never did like me. 

Ner me him, fur 's that 's concerned. 

We wuz pore, but I '11 be durned 

Ef I wouldn't ruther be. 

Well, that 's how things wuz, you see : 

I liked Bill. Bill he liked me 

Better 'n I liked him, I s'pose, 

Him bein' po'try an' me prose 

In our get-ups, — him as fine 

As a real silk fishm' line 

Like you 've saw, an' me more blame 

Differnter 'an he wuz same. 

Guess you'll leave me off at that, — 

90 



You ketch whut I 'm drivin' at. 
'Course I ain't tryin' to infer 
'At a feller 's capabler 
Of plain love jest 'cause he ain't 
Bed-rid with the ol' complaint. 

Bill wuz nigh come past nineteen 
Time ol' man 'cused him a-stealin* 
That- air money, — big an' green, 
But jes' full a-kindly feelin', 
Even fer that gread big mean, 
Good-fer-nothin' hypocrite. 
Mind you now, Bill's dad kep' eyein' 
Fur ahead, like them there lyin. 
Greasy-hearted rascals does. 
Lorier, mind, er ust to wuz. 
Only folks they didn't know 
Nothin' 'tall about that though. 
Well, zi say, he knowed more law 
'An us folks had ever saw. 
Big ol' puffed-up 'ristocrat ! 
Heart more blacker 'n his silk hat. 
An' more slicker, too, at that. 
One a-them there sancted, sly 
Hypocrites. He knowed his biz 
A-plenty, as the sayin' is. 
Knowed adzac'ly where to buy 
Justice at, an' had the wealth 
Fer to git it, an' the stealth. 
An' a orly tongue, an' sech. 
You know whut them there '11 fetch. 

91 



That there trial though wuz the wusst : 

You jest ort a-ben to it. 

That *s where you 'd a-up an* cussed 

That ol' man. I 'most fergit 

How it wuz ; but anyhow, , 

He set 'bout where you do now, 

An' me hyere, — not quite so clost, 

Mebbe, — say 'bout where that post 

Is. Well, anyhow the jury 

Had went out, room hot as fury, 

Folks a-waitin' so all-fired 

Long 'at they wuz gittin' tired. 

Then when they 'd all swore they couldn't 

Wait no longer, an' jest wouldn't, 

Court wuz called, an' jurymin. 

Long-faced, come a sulkin' in, 

Tuk their places, people gone, 

Court ha'f-empty, an' so on, — 

Y* understand — the same ol' rule. 

Well, that there ol' man a-his'n 

Set there jest as ca'm an' cool. 

Till he heered them words, "States prison." 

Then he grinned, the blamed ol' fool ! 

Law-zee ! I jest eetched to pick 'im 

Up jest bodily, an' kick 'im 

Down them court-house stairs, an' lick 'im 

Down there in the street, — an' yit, 

'Twouldn't a-he'ped pore Bill a bit. 

There he set, them two big eyes 

A-his'n lookin' 'bout the size 

A-two wells, an' twict as deep. 

92 



Well, sir, I could hardly keep 
From jest bawlin' right out loud 
There in court. Wisht now I had ; 
MebVe wouldn't a-felt so bad 
Ever sence : seems like a cloud, 
Soppin* wet with them same tears, 
Ben in my head all these years. 

No, I jes' set there in court, 
Wonderin' ef I hadn't ort 
Muster up some kind a-face, 
Git up there to Bill's girl's place, 
Open up, spit out the worst, — 
Might a-knowed her heart 'd burst, 
Seein' how she 'd bore up thue it 
All, an' ef I 'd only a-knew it 
Then, like I do now, you bet 
I 'd a-staid right where I set. 

But somehow I felt as if 
My plain duty wuz to lif ' 
That there pore, fersaken child 
Up, an' git her reconciled 
To the ongitroundabul. 
Do my part, be dutiful, 
Then turn in an' comfert her 
Like Bill's friend had ort to do. 
Donno whut I thought so fer, 
'Cause ef I 'd a-only knew 
How much good I might a-did 
By jes' stayin* 'way instid. 



But I went ; an' there stood Merty, 
Standin' waitin' in the door. 
Goodness-me ! but she looked perty. 
Seemed too bad 'at she wuz pore. 
'Cause that there 's the very stir 
Bill's ol' man wuz fussin' 'bout. — 
Swore he 'd jest kick Bill clean out, 
Ef he ever married her. 
But that day, — well, I '11 be blowed 
Ef you ever would a-knowed 
But whut she wuz jest as rich 
As they make 'um. Ever' stitch 
Splinter new, an' that there dress ! 
Call 'um travelin' gowns, I guess. 
Made it all herse'f, by hand. 
Ever' stitch, y' understand. 
Weddin' dress to run away 
An' git married in nex' day. 
'Cause she knowed 'at her Bill he 'd 
Git cleared ; said they ain't no need 
Gittin' tore up 'bout it, 'cause 
Loriers ner lorier's laws 
Couldn't make Bill out no thief, 
Never, — not to her belief. 

That there '11 give you some idee 
How much grit I must a-had 
Left, an' jest about how bad 
I must a-felt there when I see 
Her in that dress watchin' me. 
I kin see her now this minute : 

94 



My, but she looked perty in it. 

Nices' shape, an' nices' size. 

Like a angel, — an' them eyes ! 

Pore child, it wuz awful hard, 

Somehow. I undone the gate, 

Opened it, come in the yard, 

Feelin' jest like I wuz Fate 

Comin' in to drive out Hope. 

Mem'ry seems to kind-a-grope 

' Long in there, but seems ' at she 

Looked one stiddy look at me, 

Kind-a-like-a-sort-a-dream. 

World went round, an' felt, an' sounded 

Jest like I wuz bein' drounded 

In them eyes. — An' then that scream ! 

My ! it jest went thue an' thue 

My whole soul; an' brought me to 

Mighty quick, now I tell you. 

Her ma must a-heered, because 
When I laid her on the bed 
She come runnin' in where I wuz, 
Lookin' whiter 'an the dead. 
Skeered me too most nigh to death, — 
Couldn't seem to ketch my breath 
All that night ; an' that white face 
A-follerin' me round ever' place. 
Then there's pore ol' Bill, ferlorn, 
Bein' drug off fer a crime 
'At he never done no more 'n 
Nothin' , as they learnt in time. 

95 



Goin' on the airly train, 
Too, an' there's pore Mertie layin' 
Nex' to dead, an' worthless me, 
No better 'n whut I ort to be, 
An' a hunderd meaner sech 
'At the law don't never tetch. 

Well, I hung around all night, 
Thinkin' somep'm awful might 
Happm, tell on towords daylight, 
I snuck down hyere to this ol' station, 
Sad-like, to tell Bill good-bye, 
Fer three year to come ; an* my ! 
Seemed as long as all creation 
Waitin' hyere without no one, 
'Ceptin' jest myse'f to run 
On an' talk to, like I done 
Fer a hour er two, er three, 
Er mebbe four, it seemed to me. 

By an' by I heered some talk 
Outside, an' got up to walk 
Out an' see, an' run agin 
Bill, han' cuffed between two min. 
One wuz Sheriff Lane, an' t'other 
Might a-ben his big twin brother, 
Jedgin' by his size an' stren'th. 
Leedle longer though, in len'th, 
Mebbe, an' a trifle wider, 
An* more self-come-satisfider, 
Jedgin' by the easy way 



Ask °i' ^^5 

He turned off an' walked away 

When he seen me. — But 'zi say, 

I wuz interested in 

Seein' Bill, an' not strange min. 

But jest then I seen a light, 

An' a ingine hove in sight, 

Round the curve, by Thompson's mill, 

Steamed a-past us fit to kill, 

Slowed up to a dead stand-still. 

Then stood pantin' whilse she drank 

Water onto' the waterin'-tank. 

Pore ol' Bill. — I seen him go 
That there mornin' , an' I know 
I 'd lots ruther went to prison 
Place a-him. 'T'uz awful still : 
I leant over, an' says, "Bill," — 
Bill he tuk my hand in his 'n. 
"Bill," I says, — an' then it seemed 
Jest like ever' thing wuz steamed, 
An' kind-a-blurred, an' turnin' round. 
Then I heered a rushin' sound, 
Like steam 'scapin', an' the train 
Pullin' out, an' Bill says, ' ' Jim, ' ' 
An' looked up, an' me at him. 
They wuz worlds a-unspoke pain 
In them eyes. 

Well, next I knowed 
I wuz standin' on the track 
Lookin' ; an* a whissle blowed 

97 



Way, way off, an' brought me back 
Tomyse'f; an' think-says-I : 
"That there sounds jest like a groan 
From the dead ; " and donno why, 
I ain't skeered to be alone , 

' Fore daylight that way, but my ! 
That there sound does han't me so 
When I hear a whissle moan 
Way off that way, — I donno, 
But somehow jes' seems to go 
To the marrer of my bone ; 
'Specially ef I'm alone 
Somewheres, like — there! hear that now, 
Off there? Must be some ol' cow 
On the track, as Bill 'd say. 
But it don't 'fee' me that way 
Sence that night. 
* 

The train Bill rid 
On that mornin' , sir, wuz slid 
Off the track, an' robbed, an* burnt 
By train robbers, as wuz learnt 
That there very day. Some b'lieves 
Bill wuz rescued by the thieves, 
An' tuk off an' belt fer ransom, 
Thinkin' they 'd git somep'm ban' some 
From the ol' man, but it 'pears 
Like he 's meaner fer his years 
Than they s' posed, an' some folks fears 
Bill wuz massacreed, er shot, 
Er sech like, but I reckon not. 



Som'pm tells me 'twon't be long 
'Fore we meet, an' right er wrong, 
Don't mind much whut people say, 
I 'm on hands hyere ever' day 
Train time, waitin' fer ol' Bill. 
Years now, but I 'm hopin' still. 

Then I ' ve got his dad's estate 
An' all, to hold an' 'ministrate 
Jest fer him. They ain't no heirs 
'Cept him livin' anywheres. 
An' I ' ve wrote this country thue 
Fer him, like I 'd orto do. 
Waited an' philoserphized, 
Inquired, hunted, advertised 
In the papers, — Lord knows whut 
I ain't done, an' like as not 
Some day I '11 spend all I got. 

Mertie? Yes, she's livin', yes. 
Yes, indeed ; an I don't guess 
She ' s fergot ; ' cause that there dress 
Lays upstairs, all putt away 
Smooth. I 'm say in' jest to-day : 
S'pose Bill does come back fer her 
Some these days — what would she do? 
"Why, I 'd stand right hyere by you, 
Like I 'm standin' now," says she, 
"Happy, like I 'd ort to be." 
Yes, she 's kep' house now fer me 
An' my boys sence mother died. 



Up an' at pore mother's side 

To the last, jest like she 's ben 

Fer thirty year, — a faithful frien' 

To rich an' pore, — they 're all the same 

To her, — she never lays no blame ' 

To no one, — sympathacious soul. 

*' Heaven," she 'lows, "is all min's goal." 

Pore ol' Bill ! I wonder where 
He 's at. Mebbe in his grave. 
Hope I '11 meet him over there, 
Where the past is all fergave. 
Gread big-hearted, awk'ard cow. 
Give the world to see him now. 
No one ain't a bit like him, 
Quiet-like, an' tall, an' slim. 
I loved ol' Bill, I did. An' he,— 
I b'lieve he hankered after me. 
Best hearted boy they ever were. 
The only man they ever were 
Fer sech a character as her. 



THE DIFFUSION OF LEARNING. 

Wunst me 'n Willie Smif an' Joe 
Ollic was iss playin' show 
In ar back yard wunst, an' nen 
Iss me 'n Willie played p'ten' 
Like we 're bray-big acterbats, 
Whut they don't wear shoes, ner hats, 

100 



Ner nuffin' on 'm, 'cep' iss skin 
On neir laigs. Ma says 't'sa sin 
Cause my pa he taked me there 
One day, but my pa don't care. 

You ist orto hear him swear ! 
My ma she iss leaves pa be 
When he 's cross, an' my pa he 
Says my ma she 'd better had ; 
Nen her iss feels awful bad, 
'Cause her groans an' says "Oh dear ! 
Nen her iss cries, pitinear. 
Does yourn? 

It was only ist a pin 
An' a opple to git in 
Ar show nen, an' Joe he bringed 
His canerry-bird 'at singed 
Mostest tunes ! Nen nat ol' Bud 
Unkenzander slinged some mud 
Over ar back oily fence 
Nen, an' iss maked me commence 
Fightin', 'cause my pa says he 
Wants me to, an' my ma she 
Called me in an' paddled me. 
Nen ne boys is all iss mad 
An' goed home, an' I bin bad 
Till my ma iss set an' cried 
Wight out loud. Nen I iss tried 
Awful hard to be good, nen 
Purty soon a'm good again. 
Are you? 

101 



Are you got a funny pa 
Like a'm got? Say, is your ma 
A-livin'? Charlie Ollic's ain't, 
'Cause she 's turned into a saint. 
Is too ! Guess I orto know ! 
Charlie went an' telled me so 
Wunst hisself, up on my bed 
One day, when we 're playin' dead. 
Yes, 'n' he says if childern plays 
Like ney 're dead, nen some nese days 
They're gits growed nat way an' stays. 
Yes sir, 'cause my baby brover 
Gitted growed nat way, 'n' my muvver 
Tried to made him git unwaked, 
An' couldn't, nen is cried, an' maked 
Me cry too ; nen Gramma, her 
Comed an' taked me home wif her — 
Her did. 

Yes, 'n' I swored a bad word when 
They was comp'ny eatin' nen 
At her house, an' gramma she 
Iss looked th'ough her specs at me, 
Nen iss pushed back my high-cher, 
An' telled me come on wif her 
To ne worsh-house, where her cat 's 
Got some baby kittens at, 
Way up on a high place, where 
Nasty me'cine is up nere. 
Nen her put some burny lye 
In my mouf, an' by and by 

102 



I iss couldn't iss but cry. 
'Cause it hurted, too, wight in 
Where 's my tongue an' teef an' skin. 
Nen her says: "Nem bad words 'bout 
Purty nigh clean all burned out 
By vis time ;" nen her iss preached 
Longer 'n' ar preacher, 'n' teached 
Me most fings 'at he don't know 
Like gramma. Her knows 'um, though. 
Yes, 'n' my mamma says they 're so. 
Her knows. 

Yes, 'n' they 's a Good Man lives 
Way up in the sky 'at gives 
Peoples vittuls an' coal an' wood 
An' ever'fing if they 're be 's good. 
An' he iss lissuns fer boys 'at swears, 
An' hides, an' iss looks ever'wheres. 
Yes, 'n' you better say your prayers 
An' mind grown folks, er you '11 git saw, 
Nen you can't go wif my gramma 
When her goes. A 'm go' to see 
Iss how gooder as I kin be; 
An' iss a-go' to romp, an' run, 
An' be wight good, iss like I done 
At gramma's, an' iss play fun. 
I nain't never go' to swore 
Nasty bad words nany more 
Tell I git a bray big man 
Like my pa is — nen I can, 
Can't I? 

103 



THERE, THERE, 'T WILL NOT BE LONG. 

There, there, 't will not be long ; 

Weep no hot tears for me, love, i 

For I will sing a happy song 

Whene'er I think of thee, love. 

Whene'er I think of thee, 

And often that shall be. 
There, there, dear heart, 't will not be long ; 

Weep no more tears for me. 

Say me a sweet farewell. 

Oh love, look up and kiss me. 
And tell me now, as thou canst tell, 

Thus wilt thou always miss me ? 

Oh wilt thou weep and say, 

' ' My love is far away ? " 
There, there, be patient, I will come ; 

T go, but not to stay. 

Now I am with thee, dear ; 

To-night, when thou art lonely, 
Then thou wilt say, "If he were here,'* 

And "Oh, if I had only." 

Come, we must not be weak ; 

Smile through thy tears and speak. 
There, I will wipe away thy grief 

And soothe thy poor, scarred cheek. 

There, there, 'twill not be long ; 
Be happy now for me, love. 

104 



I go because I must. Be strong. 

I will come back to thee, love. 

I will come back to thee, 

I will come back to thee, 
Good-bye, sweetheart, 'twill not be long 

Be brave, and watch for me. 



WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 

Blind? Going blind? God, what have I done 

That I no more may see the glorious birth 
Of happy days ? No more for me the sun 

Shall gild with splendor all the glittering earth. 
What have I done that Thou shouldst strike me blind? 

Oh, speak to me, for I have better ears 
To hear Thy voice. Aye, and a clearer mind 

To see through Thy great goodness. Calm my fears. 
How strange that in this darkness I should feel 

Thy presence nearer now than e'er before. 
The things of earth that did so long conceal 

Thy face from me, conceal Thee now no more. 
Blind? Aye, and happy too ; for now I see 
No more myself, oh God, but only Thee. 



TO A MOTHER. 

Thou art the chosen mother of a son. 

Sent to thy care from Heaven, as thou wert sent. 
To carry on the work that Christ begun, 

AVho came from Heaven to show us what God meant. 

105 



As Mary was exalted by the event 

Which gave us Jesus, so if thou give us one 
To do God's will, thou too shalt rise content 

Above thy days ; thy cup shall overrun 
With very joyance ; and the grateful tears 

Of happy motherhood shall lift thy soul 
Like some fair cloud above the sea of years. 

Thou, by thy loving precepts, shalt control 
Men, and their deeds, and thyself glorify. 
Our noble mothers have not lived to die. 



KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT. 

Kiss me good-night. Here where alone I sit. 
Before the fire, and all is strange and still, 

Methinks I see thee where the shadows flit, 
Looking at me, until mine own eyes fill 

And stream with bitter longing. Why so white? 

Your hand — speak to me dear — kiss me good night. 

When I am gone, oh do you think of me. 
As I of thee, and reach with yearning hands 

And aching heart through the long months to be, 
Wondering if he who loves thee understands? 

Oft at the window in the cold moonlight 

I look with faithful eyes out through the winter night. 

Kiss me good-night. For He Who gave my dove 
May take her ere the morrow for His own. 

106 



And oh, who then is left for me to love, 

When thou art gone, and I am left alone. 
I must not dream of death : it is not right. 
I will be happy, dear — kiss me good-night. Good-night. 

WHEN WINTER COMES. 

When Win'er comes, an' Summer goes. 

And Win'er comes, 
My mamma she 'most alluz knows 

When Win'er comes. 
'Cause nen her darns my un'erclo'es, 
An' buys me boots wif copper toes ; 
An' says, "Now come in 'fore you 're froze.'' 

When Win'er comes. 

My mamma says boys alluz grows, 

When Win'er comes. 
Yes, an' her says ne badness shows 

When Win'er comes. 
'Cause little boys comes in 'mos' froze, 
An' warms neirselves, an' never close 
Ne doors behind 'um when ney 're goes. 

When Win'er comes. 

I never go fwif bruvver 'Brose 

When Win'er comes, 
Away out huntin' where he goes. 

When Win'er comes, 
'Cause nen ne snow, why it iss snows, 
An' ne win', why it iss blows an' blows ; 
An' makes ne tears wun down my nose, 

When Win'er comes. 
107 



WHY SHOULD I SHED ONE TEAR? 

Why should I shed one tear 

For these poor, dumb, white flowers? 
Or even for the dull, dead year 
Around me here ? 

The joy to hope is ours. 
To hope the time is near 
When we, my precious dear, 

Shall drag no more the sad, unwilling hours 
Through weary day, and week, and month, and year. 

Oh, let us hope, not grieve; 

Though the nest in the thorn be deserted, 
And the cold winds sob and heave, 
Like friends that cleave 

In vain to their departed, 
Still let us hope, not grieve. 
The joy is ours to believe. 

In spring the little birds that be true-hearted 
Will come and find their mates, and sing, and weave. 



WITH YOU, SWEET LOVE. 

I'm spending the evening with you, my love, 

After a long, hard day, — 
Just as I always do, sweet love, 

Though many a mile away ; 
And I stay as I used to stay. 

Till the hours are gray and still. 
And I think and think of the happy day 

When this shall all be real. 
108 



When this shall all come true, my dear, 

And we shall be happy then. 
When the long, long wait is through, dear, 

And I come back home again ; 
And you meet me and kiss me then, 

And the guests are all gone at last, 
And we sit by the fire alone and plan, 

As we used to, love, in the past. 

And we'll dream till the night is gone, love. 

But the rest shall still remain ; 
Till the silence hints of dawn, sweet love, • 

But it shall hint in vain ; 
For we '11 feel no more the pain 

Of parting at dead of night. 
And roses, and not tears, shall stain 

The pillows pale and white. 



EOSES. 

Two flowers remain, one red, one white, 

Of those you sent me Christmas day. 
The rest, like friends of one brief night, 

Have faded from their sides away 
And now, like lovers old and gray, 

That sit in silence, hand in hand, 
Waiting the flare of life's last ray 

To light them to a better land, 



109 



Aske-3 i feej 

Here in the twilight still they stand, 
And I, alone, to watch them die ; 
And wonder if 'tis God's command 
That these two flowers are you and I. 
The room grows dark; outside, the winter rain 
Beats, like a troubled heart, against the pane. 



POPULAR PROVIDENCE. 

Dey wuz once a ol' coon in de top ob er tree ; 

An' I thinks to mahse'f, says I : 
De Lawd pu' tended dat coon fu' me." 

Lemme tol' you de reason why. 

Dah's Mistah Coon, an' hyeah stan's me, 
Wif a gun in mah han's des' so ; 

An' I ups an' I aims at de top ob dat tree, 
Wha' Mistah Coon is, you know. 

Now when dey 's a coon at de en' ob yo' gun. 
An' you bunches yo' eye an' squint, 

An' pulls de triggah, why ten to one 
Mistah Coon '11 taik de hint. 



Kaze de Lawd 's allers got His han' in de game, 
'Nelse we 'd nach'ly stahve fu' def. 

An' when dat's de case, an' you misses yo' aim, 
Why, — you oughtah be 'shamed yo'se'f. 

110 



AT DIM TWILIGHT. 

At dim twilight, 

When woodlands darken, 

I love to hearken 

To the night. 

While far away 

Across the meadows, 

The swallows play 

Like flitting shadows, 

And children's voices. 

Like the day, 

Far in the distance 

Die away, — 

Away, away, away, away, 

Far in the distance 

Dying away. 

The hour of prayer 
Thus steals around me, 
And God has found me 
Waiting there. 
And oh how sweet 
A joy to own, 
That I may meet 
My God alone. 
When all the noises 
Of busy day 
Doze into silence. 
And die away. 
Away, away, away, away. 
Peace to the world, 
Farewell to the day. 
Ill 



PARTED. 

I must be gone, my dear, the hour is late, 

And I must rest me for the coming day. 
Would we were wed to-night. — How can I wait/ 

What shall I do to drag the months away ? \ 
Good-night. There, now, good-night, — I cannot stay. 

I must be gone. And yet, oh cruel Fate, 
Why is it those who love the most are they 

Who for the longest times must separate ? 
Yet it must be : God's will and ours are one, 
Since we have freely said His will, not ours, be done. 

He gave our love ; we are in training now 

To enjoy the life we long for. After while, 
When He has shown us, we shall wonder how 

We failed to see it all ; and we shall smile 
To find ourselves alone and face to face, 

Happy at last, and with the eternal right 
From God himself to keep our hushed embrace 

With throbbing raptures through the silent night. 
Then there shall come no rude disturbance nigh 
To tear our souls apart. Till then, Love, good-bye. 



JOE SNOW. 

Who dat you lookin' fo' ? Mistah Snow? 

No sich man in mah haid. 
Nevah were, no suh, fu' as I know, 
'Ceptin' one 'at disanpeahed long time ago, 
An' he nevah did come back no mo' , 

An' mammy 'low he 's daid. 
112 



Joseph Snow ? Well dat beats sin. 

Dah 's somepin de mattah wif mah recollection. 
You know whah he come f 'om, an' who 's his kin, 

An' all about his fambly connection? 
Heah, take a cheer. Mammy she ain't in ; 

She wasn't a-havin' no expection 
A-strangers a-comin' dis time a-day, 
She 's des gone off down dataway. 
Ef de eetch ob mah bah feet don't lie 
She'll be comin' back now by-m-by. 

You got dat name right now, fo' she * ? 

'Kaze dey ain't no sich aroun*. 
Dey is some Snow folks lives berlow, 

Des on de aidge a-town, 
De ones I tellin' you while ago 

Which de ol' man ain't been foun*. 

I was only 'long 'bout two yeah ol', 

An' I ain't nevah hyeahed 
Des whut's de trouble, 'cep' I heern tol' 

Dat he natch' ly disanpeahed. 
Den Joe, he was bo'n, an' bress yo' soul 

He look lak he wuz skeered. 

or Joe Snow is dat dre'ful slow 

He kain't mek up his min' 
Whethah he 's in de humern race, 

0' des taggin' on behin'. 
Nevah did see sich a crazy man ; 

He ain't got a spec a-sense ; 

8 113 



Evah time you' goin' down pas' his house 

He a-settin' dah on de fence. 
Des a settin' dah disaway, 

A-lookin' des lak a ha'nt. 
Lawzee ! but dat man look po' ; ^ 

He gittin' dat thin an' ga'nt 
Dey ain't nuffin' lef ' a-his 'riginal se'f 

'Ceptin' des a bag a-bones. 
Nevah say nuffin' to no man, 

Des set on de fence an' groans. 

Dey ain't no persons livin' dah 

'Ceptin' him an' his ol' maw ; 
An' it taik all de scratchin' she kin do 

Fo' to fill dat niggah's craw. 
Folks 'lows she 's a smaht ol' lady, too, 

An' so were ol' Joe's paw. 

* 45- * 

Oh mistah ! I fo' gotten to tell you ! 
Ef a braid-big dawg come up an' smell you, 
Doan' be a-skeered, — dat dawg's all right. 
You leave him 'lone, an' he '11 treat you white. 



FALL ROSES. 

These flowers should not make me sad 
Red flowers are for love, you say. 

Yet if flowers were all I had. 
Here so far away, 

Though they be sent by thee. 
Kissed and sent for my delight, 
114 



Though I know thou lovest me, 

Be they red or white, 
Still if flowers were all I had, 
Tell me, how could I be glad? 

Autumn flowers and autumn leaves 

Linger but a little while; 
Then when Indian Summer grieves, 

Nay, but let us smile. 
He Who made these flowers to die 

Made our love to live forever ; 
Though the day pass away, 

True love dieth never. 
Let us then be glad, and smile ; 
Love is growing all the while. 



LEAN MAN'S PBEJUDICE. 

I hates to see a man maik a hog of hisse'f, — 

Er a woman, too, fu' dat mattah. 
Some folks des eats twell dey ain't nuffin' lef ' ; 

Den licks ha'f way thue de plattah. 
But it's gen'ly de swine dat's mos' fattened to def 

Dat tries so ha'd to git fattah. 

Some folks kin' -a-' lows ef dey 's clean hog fat, 
F'um a-eatin', an' a-sleepin', an' a-drinkin', 

Dat dey 's got mo' brains in de top ob dey hat 
Fu' to set fool folks a-blinkm' . 

But I 'd lak to know wha' de worl' 'd be at 
Ef de fat folks done all de thinkin'. 
115 



A LITTLE BOY. 

Mamma, where you goin' — say, 

Mamma ? 

Aw mamma, 
Stay at home wif me? Please stay, 

Mamma. 
I '11 be quiet. I won't play 
Noisy games no more all day. 
Honest trufe ! Please don't go 'way, 

Will you, 

Mamma ? 

What makes you go calling for, 

Mamma ? 

Say mamma, 
You don't like me nany more, 

Mamma. 
'Cause if you did you wouldn't go 
Where they 's clubs, an' to the show 
Ever' night. You 'd stay home though, 

Wouldn't you. 

Mamma? 

Take me wif you, won't you, please 

Mamma ? 

Please, mamma, 
Take me wif you? I won't tease. 

Mamma. 
I 'd lots rawer stay at home 

116 



If 3^ou stay. But when you *re gone 
I ist always feel alone. 

Don't I, 

Mamma ? 

I don't like to stay wif nurse, 

Mamma. 

'Cause mamma, 
When I 'm cross she makes me worse. 

Mamma. 
I try hard to not to cry, 
'Cause I love you. By an' by 
You '11 love me, too, when I die. 

Won't you, 

Mamma ? 



IN COUSIN ETTA'S BIRTHDAY BOOK. 

The rudest prospect, softened in the mist 
Of dreamy-sweet September, faintly kissed 
At early sunrise, melts to amethyst. 

And paths that lead into that hazy scene, 
However rough the vales that intervene, 
Suggest a world whose like has never been. 

So mayest thou see me in my early days, 
A doubtful vale, whose many winding ways 
Give promise of some good beyond the haze. 

117 



EPH. 

Y'oughtah seen ol' Eph yistiddy — 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

Dat or soak were mo' 'an giddy — 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

Hyeah comes him ercross de clearin', 

Singin' lak he ain't a-keerin' 

Which away his laigs is steerin' — 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

Thinks I, "Hyeah's yo' chance fu' fun 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

"Watch me mek dat niggah run." 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die I 

Jes' slipped o'ff mah mule an* hitch 

In de woods an' cut er switch. 

It were gittin' da'k as pitch. 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

I jes' gove mah eye er squint — 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

Clean chucked full a-debilmint — 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ' 

Eph kep' comin' 'cross de stubbles, 

Cogertatin' bout he troubles, 

Seein' evahthing by doubles — 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

I come sneakin' up behime — 
Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

118 



IIol' on, honey, gimme time ! 

Ilya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
I jes* gripped dat ol' tho'n stick, 
Ups an' fotch dat man a lick 
Right ercross his ol' bed tick — 

Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

Say ! dat coon did paw de groun' ! 

Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
Nevah did stop to look aroun'! 

Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die I 
He jes' fotch a yell an' flew ! 
An' me aftah ! I tell you 
Dat drunk man did run fu' true. 

Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 

I jes' hat to lay an' roll ! 

Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
Clean outrunned me, bress yo' soul ! 

Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 
I jes' laffed dah to mahse'f 
Twell I couldn' ketch mah bref. — 
Say ! Dat coon were skeered to def. 

Hya-ha-ha ! Thought I 'd die ! 



ODE TO GERTRUDE. 

Lo, now the worries of the day are o'er ; 

And sick with solitude, 
I seek my lonely room, and shut the door, 

And yield me to my mood. 

119 



Asides °I fees 

My love. My love. My nearest, dearest love 

In all this world to me, — 
Not that I find this side of Heaven above 

One that compares with thee, 

However dear the ones I love may be. 
No, no, not that. 
'T is that my pent-np soul doth cry aloud 

From out this word-dark sea that floods my 
brain. 
Only to send a vague, unmeaning cloud 

Of empty words to fall like passing rain 

Upon thy thirsting soul, that thou, in vain, 

May'st try and soothe my pain. 

Oh that I felt thy form, thy breathing form, 

Here in my arms — thy face, 
Blinded in passion with my own, and warm. 

In this cold, empty place. 
My lonely being burns me with desire 

To be with thee to-night. 
My pulses throb and beat with futile fire — 

I reach out in the night ! 
I seek thy lips ! I crush the lifeless air ! 
Thou art not there. 

My spirit sobs and grieves till early light. 
Ah, love, dost thou too feel this same despair? 

Oh sweet despair of words ! Oh painful bliss ! 
To reach the very hush 
Where silence fails. 



120 



A^kes I fees 

And language, resurrected with a kiss, 
Can only halt, and blush. — 
My spirit wails 
And cries aloud for thee ! 
love ! My love ! ' My life that is to be ! 
My very death ! Ah, me. 



r A MOTHER. 

Gracious-goodness-sakes-alive ! 
Land-a-mercy ! Why you '11 drive 
Me start crazy some these days ! 
Go on now an' have yore ways. 
But don't come to me fer no 
Symp'thy when you stub yore toe ! 

Hear that young 'un carry on ! 
Stubbed his toe agin — I knew it! 
Didn't I say you 'd go an' do it? 
Child-a-goodness ! Well I swan ! 
Come to mamma, — there, don't cry, 
It'll stop bleedin' by an' by. 

There now, run an' play agin. 
Hyere 's a napple. Now take keer. 
Bless yore heart, of course you kin, 
But walk keerful. Bless the dear. 
Boys is boys sence Adam — law ! 
Sweeter child I never saw. 

121 



A LITTLE SONG FOR GERTRUDE. 

A little girl made her lover 

A calendar of days, 
With a dainty little cover 

All done in browns and grays. 

All done in browns and grays,. you know, 

All done in browns and grays. 

The cover was a little flower. — 

A pansy, I believe. 
However, I will not be sure : 

Tale bearers will deceive. 

Tale bearers will deceive, you know, 

Tale bearers will deceive. 

The little maiden tied it, 

And with a trembling hand, 
Made pictures all inside it, 

That he would understand. 

That he would understand, you know. 

That he would understand. 

And then that pretty maiden 

Took from her fluttering breast. 
Where all such things lie hidden, 

An envelope, addressed. 

An envelope, addressed, you know. 

An envelope, addressed. 

She sweetly sealed and kissed it. 
And ran oh, many blocks, 
122 



And lovingly dismissed it 
Into a letter-box. 
Into a letter-box, you know, 
Into a letter-box. 

Don't ask me now who got it. 

That wasn't meant for you. 
I told you all about it, — 

Or all I wanted to. 

Or all I wanted to, you know, 

Or all I wanted to. 



I LOVE THEE. 

I love thee, love, with all the love 

My ardent, burning being 
Can feel, can tell, is capable of, 

Or even thou of seeing. 
I love thee, oh I love thee, 

There can be none before. 
God only is above thee, 

And Him we both adore. 

I love thee, love. Must I confess 

That I have failed to tell thee? 
Oh let thine own pure loveliness 

Sweeten the words I spell thee. 
I love thee, oh I love thee. 

The same words o'er and o'er, 
Aye, I do more than love thee, 

God only loves thee more. 
123 



NIGHT. 

With military pomp and strut, 
And sound of rolling drums, 

Before his dark-eyed Spanish troops 
The Captain-General comes. 

I see him with his rigid jaw. 

His cruelty, and spite. 
My heart goes out to the hungry men 

In Cuba's camps to-night. 



REGRET. 

The river of years flows out to sea, 

Into the deep, dark night of never. 
My youth is drifting away from me. 

And shall return no more forever. 
Stop ! stop ! thou ever-flowing river, 

Bring me the days misspent and gone. 
But ah, it floweth on forever. 

Forever and ever it floweth on. 
And I long for the days and the years misspent. 

Till my life is becoming an old man's story. 
Oh why have I not been content 

To work for God and forget the glory ! 
Ring out, ye sea bells, over the waves ! 

Shriek and wail ye whistles of warning ! 
The grand old world is built on graves. 

And I shall do better to-morrow morning. 

124 



How shall I wait till to-morrow morning? 

'Tis scarce midnight by the struggling moon. 
And the day that is gone is never returning ; 

And the morrow never comes too soon. 
Oh soul ! make friends with the busy days, 

And follow no more the flying years. 
Sleep and toil, for the present stays, 

And the past and future are full of tears. 



OFFHAND REPLIES. 

I. 

Do thy best, and leave the rest 

To Him Who loves the unexpressed. 

He gave thy mind the truth to find, 

Thy conscience, lest thou still be blind. 

Think first is all He asks of all. — 

In stubbornness alone we fall. 

Or standing still in faith until 

The Lord some prophecy fulfill. 

But weigh and prove before thou move, 

Then fit thee in thy proper groove : 

Now, lest thou make a sad mistake, 

Look to thy conscience and keep awake. 

II. 

If I were only you, 

And you were only I, 
I would do as you do. 

And you would wonder why. 
125 



III. 

The better the master the l^etter the man; 

The better the man the better the work. 
The meaner the master the meaner the man^ 

The meaner the man the meaner the shirk. 
But the better the man in spite of the master, 
The greater the man in the night of disaster. 

The better either because of the other, 

The better for everybody, my brother. 

IV. 

Believe in men as they should be : 
You cannot tell what they would be. 
And what they are no man can see. 



Nevah could mek a speech, 

'Case mah brains won't wu'k, somehow. 
When I Stan's on mah feet dey ain't kin reach 

Twell de top ob mah ol' hay-mow. 
An' a man kain't mek no sawt of a speech 

Wif he brains all down in he shoes. — 
I reckon I 'd rathah hyeah you-all preach. 

I begs to be excuse'. 

VI. 

Better glad out of due season 
Than sad without good reason. 

126 



VII. 

No word that holy men have writ 

Can teach us how to pray, 
Unless at God's own feet we sit, 

And learn it just as they. 

VIII. 

De mos' wisdomes' thoughts is do ones dat you think 
When yo' flat on yo' back an' cain't sleep a wink. 



IX. 

A beach, a girl, a man. 
'Twas so since time began. 



X. 

The waves wash over the strand, 

Over the hopes of men ; 
If you see a pearl in the shifting sand. 

Rescue it there and then. 
If the waves take it out of the reach of your hand, 

It never comes back again. 



XI. 

God is my religion, 

My conscience is my creed, 
Jesus and all men my brothers, 

What more do I need ? 

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y\^ke-s I ^e^ 



"THEY CRY UNTO THE LORD IN THEIR 
TROUBLES." 

Night comes : the shadowy farms expand 

Like maps from town to town. 
The city sleeps ; and over all 

The placid moon looks down. 

Day breaks : the farmer calls his sons 

To turn the fertile soil ; 
And in the city honest men 

Go forth to honest toil. 

Man eats the pleasant bread of peace ; 

And when still evening creeps 
Upon the world, he goeth home, 

Tired out ; night comes ; he sleeps. 

Sweet is the peace our fathers bought 

With their own blood for us. 
How can we think of all they did. 

And treat the Cubans thus ? 

Their struggle has been just as brave : 

Their cause is just the same ; 
Their tyrants even worse than those 

Our fathers overcame. 

God save them at this awful time 

Their wives and little ones, 
While all the world stands looking on, 

With polished swords and guns. 
128 



PRIDE DOETH, PRIDE RUETH. 

She stopped to scold some naughty boys, 

Who watched a naughty cat, 
That eyed a bird that never stirred 

From the limb whereon he sat. 
On another limb not far from him 

Crouched a spider, big and fat. 
Who had his eye on a dragon fly 

That lay in wait for a gnat. 
The gnat came by, and the dragon fly 

Had soon been glad thereat, 
But the spider bold on him took hold, 

And heigh ! for a bloody spat. 
The spider clung with tooth and tongue, 

Like an evil insect rat, 
And the other thing, with claw and sting, 

Came back at the ugly brat ! 
They had it there, that long-legg'd pair. 

But the bird soon had them pat. 
And the whole outfit made a dainty bit 

For the sly old whiskered cat. 
The eager boys let loose their noise, 

And screeched in sharp and flat ! 
The maid lent lungs and pushed the bungs 

Into her sweet tear vat. 
But her pleadings loud on that hard crowd 

Were not worth half a sprat, 
For they only winked a wicked wink 

And the louder laughed ; whereat, 

» 129 



Up spoke a youth whose face was truth 
"Cats eat birds: what of that? 

They live thereby ; but pray tell why 
You wear one on your hat." 



DUTY. 

Do your part with all your heart, 
Whatever else may be ; 

And I will always try to do 
More than is meant for me. 

Still if I find you fall behind, 
With more than you can do, 

I '11 shoulder more ; but if I fail, 
That duty rests with you. 

So may we in true duty, love, 
Our highest hopes attain, 

Which either one, if left alone, 
Had striven for in vain. 



TO MY MUSE. 

There was a time when disappointments rung 
Their sad, perpetual bass to all I sung. 
How changed. The image of thy presence here 
Makes my poor strains come sweeter, and more 
clear. 
I sing my best, dear love, when dreaming thou art 
near. 

130 



As Wr fees 

It used to be, too, when my eyes were dim, 
I looked to God in faith, but saw not Him. 
Now, dearest Gertrude, when I kneel to pray, 
Though I do feel in truth each word I say, 
Yet thy sweet face is there, and will not go away. 

God knows. 'T is well. He hath made manifest 
In thee, my hope, all that is pure and best. 
I know Him now. Before thou camest to me 
I knew Him not. I had not learned to see. 
He bade me look : I looked, and saw Him, love, in 
•thee. 

Thou art my inspiration ; for I find 
He makes His dwelling in thy lowly mind. 
There by that sacred book where I may read 
And find the consolation that I need, 
I see my God enthroned in purity, my creed. 

Aye, you may blush for modesty, my love, 
As blushes to her mate the modest dove. 
Yet will I sing thy praises while we live, 
Lest He Who has no more like thee to give, 
Should exercise too soon His kind prerogative. 

I live in fear and hope, as one who sees 
Successive clouds pass over by degrees ; 
Not knowing which the blessings may contain. 
Which the deluge, and which the gentle rain. 
Yet I have faith, sweetheart, that we shall meet again. 

131 



My mood doth vary with thy varying steps : 
Now sinks my soul, now trembles, and now leaps ! 
When thou art with me all the world is bright. 
But oh, when thou art gone, how dark the^ight. 
How long it seems to wait the coming of the light. 

Ah, infinitely kind our God must be, 
Who could create such perfectness for me. 
Sweet, lovely revelation of His grace. 
Compared with whom all things are commonplace, 
What joy can compensate the absence of thy face. 

Yet there were times when disappointments rung 
Their dull, disheartening bass to all I sung. 
Now, wearied that a fruitless day has flown, 
I smile to God, and in an undertone 
Breathe thy sweet name, Gertrude, and I am not 
alone. 



A PEAR-BLOSSOM IN EARLY MARCH. 

Yes, I am pleased, but not surprised, 
That you have sent me, Gertrude dear. 

This blossom, blown and sacrificed 
At this strange time of year. 

Were I a bud, and kissed by thee 
In cold midwinter, there would flow 

Through me such waves of ecstacy 
That I would blush and blow. 

132 



And I, and every bud would burst, 

And watch, while you removed your glove, 

In wild suspense to be the first, 

The one that you should touch and love. 

And oh, if still thou deemed me best, 
And plucked me from the frozen stem. 

And held me next thy glowing breast, 
How might I pity them. 

How might I pity, as I do, 

The unloved buds that cannot bloom, 
Because no Gertrude comes to woo 

Their petals from the living tomb. 

Then take me back — take back this one. 

For I have dreamed this one is I. 
Oh take me back, lest here alone, 

Unloved by thee, I die. 

60 lay me on thy bosom, sweet, 

And think thee then, if I were this. 

How thy sweet lips and mine would meet 
In one prolonged, impassioned kiss. 

And I shall follow by and by. 

And we shall know that pure delight 

When there are none but you and I, 
And God, and hush, and night. 

133 



Ashes i fee^ 

Oh hopeful day ! Ah, Gertrude dear, 
Would I could force the buds of time 

To blossom into month and year, 
As feelings blossom into rhyme. 

Then might our dreams — no, dearest, no. 

And yet, — not yet, my precious dove. 
Be patient, and the buds will blow. 

God has His time, and we our love. 



AN ANONYMOUS ATTACK. 

To criticise is first to appreciate. 

( But boys' ideas, like their clothes, shrink on 
them. ) 
Only the great can comprehend the great. 

All have opinions, but the wise think on them. 
Let witics joke my lines, — I'll join the laugh. 

And critics scratch me if they must, — I'll spare 
them. 
They cannot tell me all my faults by half ; 

Nor recognize my virtues, save they share them. 
Bless all the fun there is at my expense. 

Bless all the good that everybody does. 
The inoffensive cannot take offense. 

If I am ever great, God is the cause. 

If ever weak, love me for what I was. 
Judge not, lest ye love not: ye are the conse- 
quence. 

mi 



Askes i fees 

SPRING. 

Have you heard the robins singing, 

Gertrude dear? 
Have you heard the robins singing? 

Spring is here. 
I can feel my own joy ringing, 
In their glad, incessant singing, 
In their loud, melodious singing, — 

Kiss me, dear. 

Summer's coming, — I feel showers 
Through and through. 

I can breathe the breath of flowers, 
Love, can you? 

None, I know ; but the sun is brighter, 

And the air seems soft and lighter. 

See, the very clouds sail whiter 
In the blue. 

Soon the trees will spread their shadows, 

Cool and deep. 
Where the hazy, drowsy meadows 

Doze and sleep. 
Then these little birds, confiding 
All their love in secret hiding, 
Will have built their wee abiding 

Where we peep. 

Come let us go and wander. 
You and I, 

135 



tip the old lane winding yonder 

To the sky. 
There we'll stroll and dream together 
Of the nest we too shall feather 
In the happy summer weather 

By and by. 



TO A WINDFLOWER. 

Poor, frail little windflower, 
Crushed between the leaves 

Of this letter from my love, 
He who preforgives 

All that I am guilty of. 

Take thy little soul above. 

Back to Him, sweet windflower, 
Yield thy fragrant breath. 

Thou who camest here to me, 
Lovely, though in death, 

Thou who art as fair as she, 

Ah, but no, that cannot be. 

Ah, I knew a windflower, 

Pure and fair as thou. 
But the good are very frail. 

She is withered now. 
Sister of my wayward years, 
Ah, I wonder if she hears. 



'♦CUBA LIBRE !"^ 

Oh how sweet the secret summons to the breathless 

Halls of Fame, 
Where the eager world awaits us — loud to praise, and 

quick to blame. 
Hot to hail the coming hero : "Who the next? Who 

will it be?" 
Ah, how nervously we mutter, "Wait — be patient — I 

am he." 
"Patience — patience — I am coming! Oh I have no 

uniform — 
They will call me boy, and — " Listen ! 'tis the hush 

before the storm. 
How we swallow — how the heart beats — yet what 

confidence we feel ! 
None can do our duty for us ; we must act; and act 

with zeal. 
Ready now, — be brave, spirit, — friends enough will 

follow on. 
We cannot depend on others ; we must go and stand 

alone. 
Forward! — press right through between them — reckon 

afterward the cost — 
Forward now, my soul, or never ! Wait till day, and 

all is lost. 

"Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! " came the 
cry. 

Peace grew pale. War had awakened : a.nd the morn- 
ing hopes were high. 

* Lee-bray. 

137 



Ask °r fees 

* ' Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! ' ' Peace looked up — she 

could not speak. 
Pity came and pointed seaward ; and a tear crept 

down her cheek. 
Far and black against the sunrise loomed the loaded 

convict ships 
From the land of Hate and Avarice. Love came up 

with trembling lips. 
Peace looked back; she saw them coming, Hope 

Triumphant in the lead, 
Then came fixed Determination and the ragged hosts 

of Need. 
Par behind hung shrewd Ambition, with his hireling 

band of brutes. 
Duty hastened on without them, gathering up the late 

recruits. 
On they came, and God was with them ! Fear's own 

force took up the cry : 
* ' Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! ' ' and the echoes made 

reply. 
*' Cuba libre ! libre ! libre ! " Oh the hills did love 

the sound ! 
Peace herself rejoiced within her, and no longer 

looked around. 
*' Cuba libre ! " clanged the anvils — she could hear 

them far and wide. 
*' Free ye Cuba ! " swelled the answer down the long 

Atlantic side. 
*' Free ye Cuba — we are with you ! " flashed the word 

from sea to sea — 

■"Banish Tyranny forever from the New World of the 

Free." 

138 



* ' Cuba libre ! Cuba libre ! ' ' Happy they who loved 

and heard; 
Happy they who faced the world to spread and preach 

the happy word ; 
Happy they who hurried northward to supply who 

stayed and fought ; 
Happy, happy they who helped them. Witness, ye 

who helped them not. 
Happy? Who had not been happy at the birth of 

Freedom — say? 
Is the black man sad and gloomy on Emancipation 

Day? 
Did the Signers toll the bells? Ah no. They rang 

and rang on high, 
"Till the hills rejoice for ever on the Fourth Day of July. 
And the sick man, the pale sick man, sweating on a 

couch of pain. 
He rejoiced those sounds, and smiling, drank them 

deep, and harked again: 
Eaised his head from the hot pillow, listened to the 

distant peals, 
Crept up to the open window, and looked out across 

the fields. 
Oh the free fresh air of heaven, and the sweet smell of 

the hay, 
And the dreams of peace and quiet. He died happy 

on that day. 
* ' Independence ! Independence ! ' ' screamed the 

striplings in the streets. 
Lofty little minds are awful when the bulging forehead 

beats. 



139 



As\ie'S I ^ej 



Mighty men were little children ; little children 

mighty men ; 
And they marched out head to shoulder, to return no 

more again. 
And the mothers, and the daughters, who were just as 

brave at home, 
Toiling for the boys and fathers, v/ho, alas, should 

never come. 

*' Gold or Silver ! Gold or Silver ! " sped the madden- 
ing, magic word. — 

* ' Gold or Silver ; which are you for ? " Sense was 
wounded when she heard. 

"Gold or Silver for the masses — Gold or Silver for the 
rich — 

Gold, or Gold, or Gold or Silver — Gold or Silver — 
which for which ? ' ' 

"Gold or Silver ! Silver ! Silver ! " Agitators 
thronged the streets, 

Damning all the rich together — even philanthropists 
were cheats. 

Not a more offended people ever welcomed polling 
day. 

When they too might give opinions in their own 
emphatic way. 

" It 's McKinley ! " dinned the thousands in the mid- 
dle of the night. 

'"Eah McKinley ! " came the answer, " Courts are 
safe, and law is right ! " 

* ' ' Rah McKinley ! ' Rah McKinley ! Honor and 
Protection ! ' Rah ! 

HO 



Down with loud Repudiation ! Up with money and 

the law!" 
• ' Call Prosperity back from Europe, and shut out the 

pauper breeds ! 
Build a wall against stagnation ! Gold is what the 

country needs." 
"Gold? Where can the poor man get it? Poverty 

earned what Luxury eats. 
Progress waits upon Employment ; and Employment 

shuns the streets. 
" They make money who have money to impose upon 

the poor ; 
If the poor like men resent it, Wealth goes in and 

shuts the door. 
"Wealth will listen to no reasons, and will give no 

reasons why. — 
' Strike, and I will starve your families ; you must 

come to terms, not I.' " 

Fruitless, fruitless, oh my brothers, is a warfare such 

as this, 
And the louder the complaining, wider yawns the 

dark abyss. 
Wider, deeper, more portentious grow the differences 

of men ; 
While a kind, unselfish interest soon might heal them 

up again. 
Blindness to the ills of others makes our lot seem 

worse than theirs : 
Speak for Love ; lead out with Virtue ; look to God 

and His affairs. 

141 



Listen : ' ' Cuba ! Cuba libre ! ' ' can ye hear above 

the moan? 
Death and Famine drive them thither, gaunt, 

unfriended, and alone. 
See them — women — little children — crawling on 

their hands and knees — 
Eouse thee up, thou busy Business ! Will you hear 

not even these ? 
Hunger ! Oh thou hideous Hunger ! Christ ! are 

these the means of war? 
Who will urge them back? What pretense? They 

shall see their homes no more. 
Spain has starved their families. Heavens ! ask me 

not what else they did. 
God of Love have mercy on us — we who saw — Oh 

Christ forbid. 
Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, help the helpless, 

rich or poor. 
Worthy or unworthy — God knows ; ours to keep, and 

His to cure. 
Kind at home means constant kindness. Knaves may 

pass for saints abroad. 
Deeds undone at home hang heavy on thy conscience 

and thy God. 
Where are now the friends they looked to? Who had 

thought a year ago 
We, of all they put their trust in, would be first to 

say them no? 
How much longer, ye wise statesmen, will ye blunder 

for the light? 

142 



ftlottoes stamped on gold or silver will not bring the 

future right. 
• ' God we trust. ' ' — but who shall serve Him ? ' ' God 

is Love." — and what are ye? 
Brotherhood, not gold or silver, is the standard that 

must be. 
Act ! His hosts are marshaled, waiting. Act ! The 

public voice is hoarse. 
Who now wants investigation? Speak — and let your 

talk be terse. 
Know ye not 'twas our example, — that the sweet 

prospect that lured 
Was the hope that they might some day, with* the help 

that we assured. 
Draw their little force together, just as we did ours, 

and hold 
That the New World had decided to proceed without 

the Old? 
Witness that the least among you, falsely in the 

Nation's name. 
Sneered upon their lofty passions, and betrayed us to 

the blame. 
God, have faith in us, Thy children, when we sneak 

from out Thy sight, 
Bent on business of our own, when thine awaits us 

through the night. 
Hear me ! Hear me, ye great people ! In the name 

of Christ the Son ! 
In the name of God our Father ! this disgrace must 

not be done. 

143 



A$Ws i fees 

Loose on Spain the Yankee spirit — Gulf to Lakes, and 

West to East ! 
Peace, with all her hosts, is coming ! Send for Bull, 

and set the feast ! 
Hear us ! Cuba ! Cuba libre ! Independence now 

or death ! 
Force the pass ! We come ! we come ! and all the 

angels hold their breath. 



MARCH AND APRIL. 

Loud, many-mooded March, with hurrying clonds, 
Chill rains, cold, windy sunshine, and what not ; 
That strange, green, gaunt, outlandish month that 

crowds 
His foolish days with one mad, freakish blot 
Of births and deaths of flowers, — I know not what,- 
The reckless boyhood of the year, in short. 
Is past, and all his youthful sins forgot. 
April, sweet month of first love, his consort, 
Blooms in the blushing fields, and calls him from his 
sport. 



MAY. 

How cool you look this morning. Have you been 
At Sabbath school? Where were you going now? 
The last bell rang, and they were going in 
As I came by. Don't go. Let me endow 

144 



Thy pure white corsage with this apple bough. 
I cut it for thee coming o'er the hill. 
Its blossoms are not lovelier than thou, 
Sweet, fragrant flower. Oh do you love me still. 
When I am pale and thin? You always, always 
will? 

It is quite warm. My heart beats so from running 
Down j:he hillside, I scarce can do my best. 
There, — is that right? My fingers lose their 

cunning. 
And modestly, so near thy fluttering breast, 
Eager to pause, yet fearful to molest, 
Quiver and halt, and halting, blush, and grow 
Bewildered. 

Let us sit here, sweet, and rest. 
No, dear, not tired exactly, but, — you know: 
I dream of you all day. The time seems very slow. 

Ah, yes, a bright spring morning ; but my sky 
Sometimes will darken on such days as these. 
Come to the orchard, and I '11 tell you why; 
I will feel better there among the trees. 
My mind will feel the influence of the breeze, 
And blossom into speech, if speech be true. 
The man is moulded by the things he sees, 
The air he breathes, the sounds he listens to. 
If all we feel be God, so all we say and do. 

Let us sit here. First let me spread your cloak 
On the thin grass, lest you take cold. Ah me — 

i« 145 



M- °' 



es 1 ISSS^S 



What an ideal spot beneath that oak. 
And yet from there the house obscures the sea. 
Let us stay here. From this old apple tree 
We have the ocean, and the ocean wall, 
And the long curve of beach out in the bay,_ 
And a white sail, and the blue sky and all. 
Beside, the blossoms here will touch us as they fall. 

Now, dear, were I but master of the brush, 
With genius in my soul, how might I rise, 
Seize the occasion, catch the passing flush, 
Enter and dwell where holy darkness lies 
Deep in the dewy twilight of thine eyes, 
Dwell and half dream, — dwell till the very paint 
Wakes with a flush and throbs to realize 
How 'neath my spell it breathes a living saint. 
Clothed in an apple bough. 

Reluctant, weak, and faint, 
I feel myself emerging from a dream. 
And my poor soul resumes me as of old. 
But still exhausted, hates the things that seem. 
And shuns to look, till by degrees, behold : 
Whose lovely smile is this I see unfold? 
My sweet Gertrude, my picture, oh my bride. 
Will ever painter of an age of gold 
Create a dream so pure and glorified 
As thou, my promised love, in blossoms at my side ? 

With wasted eyes, and an ungifted arm, 
How helpless were thy painter to enscroll 

146 



The modest beauty of thy face and form. 
How weaker still thy poet to extol 
. The simple whiteness of so pure a soul. 
'Twere easier to invade the realms above, 
Outsail the stars, and pass beyond control 
Of God Himself, than in this flowery grove 
Paint what no man can paint, a likeness of real 
love. 

Serenely now the blossoms rise and fall 
On their wide branches. There is peace in them. 
Were I this exile drooping on thy shawl, 
Softly would I let go, waft from the stem. 
And lodge upon the lace-embroidered hem, 
So kindly, thou wouldst smile, and not protest. 
As on the petal trembles the dew-gem, 
So would I tremble on thy fragrant breast ; 
And if I fell, oh love, — take me, and let me rest. 

Forgive me dear, I cannot sing ; no use. 
Who soar must fall ; and those who venture high, 
God help them when the excitement cuts them loose, 
And they come gasping headlong through the sky. 
Who talk the most say least, sometimes, and I, 
Feeling my failure, like a little child 
Must feign to laugh, lest I break down and cry. 
So sensitive am I, my songs so wild, 
I and my best attempts must die unreconciled. 

Yet I have felt all earthly discontent 
Vanish away, when with one high endeavor, 

147 



Ask f fees 

Seizing the stillness, I have given vent 
To words that chilled my being to deliver. 
Sweet, living truth, direct from God the Giver, 
Wholesome with consolation, — His, not mine. 
My words will fail, but God's live on forevei'. 
Oh let me live in one exalted line. 
While volumes past me crowd to prosperous decline. 

A man of moods? No, boy. Boy to the letter. 

The rest is true. I glory in the truth. 

Let the world laugh, they cannot make me bit- 
ter ; 

I go to meet them, not with nail and tooth, 

I hail them with the confidence of youth ; 

Weigh with them kindly ; make them all my 
friends ; 

And find them fond and human, not uncouth, 

Willing ofttimes to sympathize my ends, 
Whereas I might have thought them enemies, and 
fiends. 

, I love all men when God is in my heart. 
W^ould I could always think to keep Him there. 
He tells me these crude souls are but a part 
Of the kind scheme He has, — that everywhere 
Each of His children may work out some share 
Toward the great day that He alone can see. 
He speaks ; and in that instant I prepare 
To do His will, wherever that may be, — 

Face the dark night with joy, and He goes out with 
me. 

148 



Oh, and what rapture, — what heroic, high, 
Unnamable felicity exalts 

The soul that harkens, goes, nor questions why. 
Into the mine of hopeless night, nor halts 
To pick the wreckage from the sea of faults. 
But with a faith that loves the wind, and hears 
The approving voice of God, goes and assaulte 
In His high name the thieves of human tears. 
And lifts them up with love, and whispers in their ears. 

All men have tasted of these joys, Gertrude, 
For men may rise above themselves at times. 
Even kings have yielded to the timely mood, 
And made propitiation for their crimes. 
And poets, who have revelled in dull rhymes 
Of sad licentiousness, have been inspired 
From their last state to ring the heavenly chimes 
To such high flights that angels have admired. 
But ah, their strength was gone ; alas, how soon they 
tired. 

Yet none can touch celestial solitudes, 
And can we wonder that the sensitive poet. 
Descending from these strange, unearthly moods. 
Feels he has failed, and trembles lest we know it ? 
He aimed beyond us, but fell far below it. 
Else his high flight had past all comprehension. 
Just as the heart is touched the eyes will show it. 
There is no sweeter praise than rapt attention. 
Moved or unmoved, our duty is to hear; 
Art asks no higher tribute than a look, a smile, a tear. 

149 



My friend is gentle master of my heart. 
Not flatterer ; no, nor critic ; but his word 
Is caught with rapture, and preserved in art ; 
He lives forever, and the souls he stirred 
Shall rise to bless him and themselves be heard. 
There is no end to kindness, once it lives. 
Shall we forget who loved us when we erred? 
God bless the rare old friendship that forgives ; 
The heart with two big hands, that welcomes, and 
believes. 

Next to the man men love the poet. Byron, 
With all his littleness, was a mightier power 
Than any king whose bloody rod of iron 
Smote the weak times and bade the nations cower. 
Did not great David in an awful hour 
Sin against God, Whom he was sent to sing? 
And who will say he was not still the flower 
Of all the ancients, warrior, bard or king, 
That down to us with awe the solemn Scriptures 
bring ? 

Mistake me not, Gertrude ; none can know 
Better than thou what I do think of sin. 
Ask God how from polluted sources flow 
The streams of life that we refresh us in. 
I think how handicapped some men begin, 
And wonder what had come of me if I, 
Born with such fire, humored as they have been. 
Had met these same enticements I defv. 



150 



A^kesl fees 

The mighty weak, like shields before the times, 
Stand out and take the blame for all the common 

crimes. 

What man knows of himself, if for some cause 
He had been born with passions and weak will? 

. And Burns, — had he but met the right applause, 
Would he have been the loud exciseman still? 
God had His purpose in each : we may kill, 
Drug with false praise, or starve into dejection, 
But he will send another to fulfill 
His high design, and point us to perfection. 
Happy the man, and perfect in God's eyes, 

Who, though he fall, and fall, and fall again, still 
tries. 

Yet there are some with superstitious notions 
Who will not pause, but organize to fight 
Imaginary devils with emotions 
That warp their minds and dim their spiritual sight; 
Till, losing charity, they lose the light ; 
And from their piteous darkness you may hear them 
Calling their man-made God of wrath and spite 
To judge the wicked world, while ever near them, 
An all-forgiving Father grieves that his children fear 
Him. 

Many with satisfaction wait the day 
When wholesale justice shall condemn the risen, 
Happy, poor souls, that God shall not delay 
To cast His enemies in eternal prison. 

151 



Such are the minds that count it sin to reason. 
But God loves them, and waits. He loved the Jews 
From whose dead errors works this sacred poison, 
That we, three thousand years towards Heaven, 
must choose, 
Or be despised of men who hold these morbid views. 

Oh that all nations knew that God is Love, 
And recognized in Christ the gentle Brother. 
Jesus, (and Washington,) ordained above, 
And many a man is of a holy mother. 
All are the children of the one kind Father, 
Jesus the only worthy of us all; 
Who teaches us to live for one another, 
Lest by one's selfishness another fall. 
And that is all there is. The task is very small. 

Father, direct us to avoid the snares 
And gloomy pitfalls of theology. 
Teach us how sweeter praises are than prayers, 
Thanksgiving than beseeching, — let us be 
Grateful and glad, resigning all to Thee, 
Who in Thy goodness cannot humor men 
And still be wise of what they cannot see. 
Teach us to know our duty, not to scan 
Thee, whom we cannot know, trusting until we can. 

When from our joys we turn to bear the trials 
That make us men, prepared for greater joys. 
Fill Thou our souls, that we may keep the smiles 
Of happy peace for timely counterpoise. 

152 



A^Uf 



nSS^s 



So shall we go about with little noise ; 
And in our hearts, not in our mouths, shall lie 
The faith good wisdom welcomes and employs. 
Thou sparest none from kindness, all must die. 
Oh may we love Thee more, and come without a sigh. 

Alas, and oh alas, that men should stoop 
To the calm bartering of their souls for praise. 
Alas that I have been the easy dupe 
Of vulgar plaudits in my earlier days. 
Woe is the bard whose eagerness for the bays 
Persuades his holy office to receive 
The gorgeous wreath that withers and decays. 
Woe is the man who has no more to leave 
Than odes to wasted time, and deeds beyond retrieve. 

I falter, dear, for I, young though I am, 
Have juggled time and talent for applause ; 
Till, grown to be the shadow of my sham, 
I took delight in building fame of straws. 
If for no other reason than because. 
But winter came, and these successive snows 
Have kept me so employed that now I pause 
And find myself companion of the rose. 
Love, in thy modest eyes my real ambition glows. 

I think of thee, and I am seized to paint 

The truth, far in the future, and I cast 

Check to the winds, and leave old dull Restraint 

Gaping at me from out the wasted past, 

And startled Time, bewildered, stands aghast. 

153 



I heed th'3m not. I only throb within 
And spe^d the swifter, lest the fire outlast 
The nervous fuel ere the work begin — 
^T I can save my strength for the finish I will win. 

\Yhy should I win? What man enjoys his prize 
As much as he who lost it envies him ? 
A heavy name is greater in some eyes 
Than modest faithfulness. Each has his whim. 
A.nd gratified, it suddenly grows dim 
And worthless. Yet the man who toils ahead 
Scorns a reward for duty ; and his hymn 
Swells to the skies, though from a shivering bed 
He goeth forth at dawn, unfriended, and unfed. 

Come, dear, let us go in ; perhaps a song 
Would brighten me a little, for I fear 
A transient ray of sunshine will not long 
Keep back the clouds that seem to disappear. 
Oh would my soul were like the mountaineer, 
Who sees the clouds beneath him, while above 
He looks into a sky forever clear. 
The eagle is his symbol, mine the dove; 
Heroic war his song, mine love, eternal love. 

Yes, God is Love. You know just what to say 
To light me through the clouds. Come, let us sing. 
I 'm glad I left my harp here yesterday. 
I '11 tune it while you go upstairs and bring 
Your violin. Hark, how the echoes ring 
Through the still house, to the most breathful touch. 

154 



Don't be gone long. 

Oh is there anything 
In this wide world that I do love as much 
As the sweet smile of willingness. I will hum 
A low, wierd interlude, and harken till she come. 

Hush! 

The world is gone. 

Alone, 

Alone, 

Far out upon 

The farthest zone 

Of space 

I, Music, 

Sit listening. 

Hush: 

Hush : 

Nothing but silence. 

Nothing but night. 

No stir, 

No light, 

Nothing. 

The things that were 

Are dead. 

Darkness instead, 

And blur. 

The expectant void 

Sways and vibrates 

With worlds unborn. 

How long, 

155 



How long till morn? 

Wait. 

God waits. 

And I, 

I, Music, wait 

And palpitate, 

Stirred, 

But unheard. 

Listen ! 

Hark! 

The birth of sound ! 

I feel ! 

I hear ! 

Oh strings, resound ! 

Fly!— fly! Fear, 

And thou, Space, 

Give place ! 

Hail! 

Strike ! Oh ye strings, 
Eejoice ! 
Rejoice ! 
Creation brings 
Her mighty voice, 
All living things 
And rocks and springs 
Call to the day 
"Rejoice ! 
" Rejoice ! " 
Hark. 

156 



Far away 
Faint Echo sings 
"Rejoice ! 
"Rejoice ! 
"Rejoice!" 
And dies 
Along the skies 
Where Quiet lies 
Sleeping. 
Hush. 

Nothing but just a little offhand song 
To amuse my spirits with till your return. 
It had been shorter, but you staid so long 
I let the lamp of inspiration burn, 
Spread the wide wings of lofty unconcern, 
And in that instant was beyond all thought, 
Save that unconsciously I harked to learn 
When you were coming, till each sound I caught 
Impulsed me on to reach almost the heights I sought. 

And I had reached it, but as you came nearer 
The inspiration blushed, and ran and hid. 
Or else I blushed ; for when I have a hearer 
I always do. That is, I always did. 
And that I lose my deference God forbid. 
There is a joy in modesty of soul. 
We watch it in the patient invalid 
With tears of hope. And who would set control 
Above his gentler self, and bravely spoil the whole? 

157 



Would I could be what I admire in men. 
Would I were great, even to the highest flush 
Of young ambition. Yet the voice, the pen, 
Are less than simple goodness, and I blush. 

The organist in the dim cathedral's hush 
Looks through the darkness, and his fingers feel 
Along the breathless keys with tremulous touch, 
And on his listening soul, faint, but how real, 
Far through the holy night the heavenly answers 
steal. 

He hears. He answers. With emotion clinging 
To the low flute that mellows through the gloom. 
He hears the angels answer, — hears them singing, - 
And now the silence whispers ' ' Hark ! they come ! 
' ' Hark ! hark ! ' ' the organ echoes, ' ' hark ! be 

dumb!" 
And in the hush that follows you can hear 
The labored breathing of great pipes, and some 
Groan their impatience to the organeer, 
Who lingers listening still. But see — strange lights 

appear: 

And he can tell the voices that come first ; 
Hears the great masters leading; and with zeal 
Opens the throbbing pipes that else had burst, 
Lets out his soul and echoes peal on peal. 
Loud from the lofty pipes the raptures reel. 
Harmoniously confounded. Far below, 

158 



The heaving pedals tremble to reveal 
That depth of joy the deep alone can know, 
And the great lofts reply, like seas that ebb and 
flow. 



Now the high notes like flames of moving fire 

Above the rolling clouds of joyful bass, 

Leap from the thousand throats of crypt, dome, 

spire, 
And flash tuned lightning up through thundering 

space. 
Hark the far anthems of the populace : 
The excited chimes, the sacred iron bell. 
And the great organ gladdens on apace. 
And the walls rumble with the mighty swell — 
Music and Madness wed — and roaring wind, and 

hail. 

As when a spark of its own ardor glows 
In the dead solstice of a summer night. 
Feeds to a flame, and brightens as it grows, 
Till sea and city, stars, clouds, mountain height 
Peer from the flickering darkness pale with fright, 
Then as they catch the excitement and join in. 
And the big ocean trembles with delight. 
The opposite foothills echoing to the din 
Of voices, that like angels all in white 
Move slowly singing up the mountain side 
• ' Glory to Him Who lives ! We come ! Behold our 
pride." 

159 



Just as triumphant inspiration comes 
To that high climax of the mighty scale 
Where blare of golden horns, and metal drums, 
Are heard no more above the nightingale, 
And delicate Music feels her lips grow pale 
And tremble, and she finds herself alone 
Far in the midst of silence, then there fail 
The slow-returning choirs, until the tone 
Is lost among the stars, that roll about the throne. 



MIDSUMMER NIGHT. 

The sun is low in the woods ; 

And the long, twilight shadows are creeping 
Over the lily-pond, solemn and still, 
Where the odor of hay floats by. 

And the reapers are through with their reaping 
And the bullfrogs down in the lily-pond 
Croak, while the little ones shrill. 

Let us drift with the breeze. Oh love. 
Like a shadow a-creeping, a-creeping. 
Over the lily -pond, close by the mill ; 
Where the white swans dream and float. 
And ever the willows are weeping, 

And their images down in the lily-pond 
Touch them, and quiver, and thrill. 

Let us drift with the breeze, Oh love, 
Like a shadow a-creeping, a-creeping, 

160 



A^Lsl fees 

Over the lily-pond, under the hill ; 
Where the clover droops from the bank, 
And the cattle are dozing and sleeping, 
And the stars, deep down in the lily-pond, 
Watch us, and tremble, and thrill. 



POOR. 

We 're goin' away to-morrow day, 

Down to ne railroad crack, 
An' goin' on ne choo-choo cars, 
An' tooken ever'fing nat's ars, 

An' never comin' back. 

My papa 's got a whole big lots 

A-jobs, way to a place 
Where th' ain't no peoples 'cep' but us, 
An' mans nat grives ne omblibus, 

An' whiskers on the'r face. 

It's way, way past ne woods somewheres. 

My papa knows. He 's been. 
An' mamma says they 's ugly scares, 
An' wild In-dins, an' snakes, an' bears. 

An' all kinds a-fings fwif skin. 

My papa says we 're poor, an' he 7<r^ 
Can't git work here to do. \' 

" . 161 



Wisht I wuz rich, an' mamma an' me, 
An' papa, an' gramma, too, all three. 
An' sister, an' ns, why nen, why we, 
Why we 'd be rich, like you. 

An' we'd have pie, an' cake, an' sweet, 

An' butter on ar bread. 
An' m' lasses, too, an' steak, an' meat, 
An' oh, iss ever-fing to eat. 

Nen wouldn' I be glad? 



THE COUNTY FAIR. 

One time I seen a bray-big b'loon ! 

Fourf-a-July afernoon. 

Guess it wuz, er to ne Fair. 

I donno — I guess nat's where, 

'Cause my bray-big brover Ed 

Runned away f 'om me, he did, 

An' slipped away somewheres an' hide. 

Nen I iss runned an' cried an' cried. 

Nen he comed an' said 'at he 

Done it fer to iss scare me. 

Nen we 're went where 's krees an' fings, 

An' birds in 'um what they 're sings; 

Only they nain't nany, 'cause 

When I peeped up where they wuz. 

Why they wuzn't nany nere; 

Way out to ne Coundy Fair. 

162 



Ed he ketched a bray-big snake ! 

An' killed its head off fwif a rake ! 

An' lots a-min they 're corned an' said 

' ' How-do ' ' to my brover Ed. 

Nen Ed, why he taked holt my hand, 

An' we're iss runned where they 's a band. 

An' bray -big race crack, mile around ! 

An' horses scootin' round an' round 

All ne time ! An' bell to ring, 

An' make 'um go, an' ever'fing, 

An' p'leece to keep ne peoples back, — 

Only we're skipped acrosst ne crack 

When they're wuzn't lookin' nen, 

'Cause Ed he knowed the p'leece, I b'leeve, 

'Cause he called one " Hello, ol' man ! " 

An' laffed, an' taked a-holt his sleeve. 

An' 'nover p'leece comed up to Ed, 

An' I fergit whut all he said. 

Only he laffed an' looked at me. 

An' hold me up so I could see 

Way crosst ne ring ! an see a horse 

Iss runnin' , an' a nover horse 

Iss try in' to ketch up, an' couldn't, 

An' nover horses tried, an' couldn't, 

An' I iss hollered down to Ed, 

An' nen he taked me, 'cause he said 

The p'leeceman hat to went on ne crack 

An' keep ne res' ne peoples back. 

An' nen here comed a nigger-man 

Iss scootin' past as fas' he can 

On top a horse, an' shake his whip, 

163 



An' hollerin' "Git ep ! git ep ! " 
An' nen some more corned scootin' past, 
An' they 're was iss goin' awful fast, 
An' novern comed, an' when ne crowd 
Wasn' lookin' I hollered wight out loud. 

An' nen I seen some pigs, an' cows, 
An' bulls, an' horses, an' dray-big sows, 
An' cutest littie pigs, an' sheeps, 
An* papa sheeps, an' mamma sheeps 
An' loculmodives runnin' round, 
Fwifout no cracks ! wight on ne ground ! 
An' big win'meels, an' water come, 
An' didn' haf to pump atall. 
An' Ed he went an' got me some. 
An' candy," too. I guess nat 's all. 
An' they wuz ever'body nere. 
Way out to ne Coundy Fair. 

Oh yes ! 1 seen a bray-big b'loon ! 

An' big clo'es-basket, an' some min 

Comed along an' iss got in ! 

Nen ever'body hollered ! 

'Cause nen ne b'loon 

Iss got away, an' went skrait up ! 

An' peoples hollered, an' it wouldn' stop ! 

An' nen ne min slung lots a-sand 

Out a-bags, an' waved the'r hand ! 

Nen ever'body hollered nen, 

An' wathed the'r han'kercheefs again, 

An' I telled Ed whut wuz they doin""? 

161 



An' he says, '* You're'U see perty soon." 

An' nen I wait, an' by an' by, 

When they 're git up past ne sky 

Ne b'loon iss upset, perty nigh. 

Nen Ed he seen it, an' some min, 

They're seen it, an' some nover min, 

They 're seen it, an' I couldn' see it. 

An' whole lots a-ladies couldn' see it. 

An' nen, why nen, why Ed he says, 

" I guess that mus' be all they is." 

An' nen I tooked a-holt his hand. 

An' we 're went wight past nover band. 

An' nen I got to went an' go 

Past where they wuz a big side-show, 

An' min a-hollerin', an' nen us 

An' Ed got in a nomblibus, 

An' took us skrait down town fer nickle. 

An' I went to sleep, an' Ed hat to tickle 

Me an' nover little boy. 

An' I di'n't know ne little boy. 

Only Ed, he knowed ne little boy. 

An' I wuz to ne Coundy Fair. 

I bet you wisht nat you wuz nare. 

THE CALFIE-COW. 

Wunst, a 'ittol caffie-cow 
Lost its ma, one day, 

An' couldn' find her, nanyhow, 
Nen iss runned an' say : 
" Ma ! Ma ! Ma ! " iss nat way. 
165 



An' nen her mamma corned along 
F'om where her start to go, 

An' ast her what on earf was wrong 
'At maked her holler so. 

"Moo! Moo! Moo!" 
Nat 's all I know. 



THE STREAM. 

The brooklet runs to meet the brook 

The brook to meet the river ; 
The river flows to join the sea, 

And lose itself forever. 

My childhood babbled into youth; 

Now youth, through manhood driven, 
Will leave me soon below the falls, 

In placid view of Heaven. 

Choose well thy course, — keep pure, my soal, 

And oh where'er thy duty, 
Reflect thy God before all men. 

Though few admire thy beauty. 

So shalt thou flow a perfect stream, 

Lost in His love forever ; 
And men shall say, "How sweet to stray 

Beside this ancient river." 



166 



MY TOWN. 

You may go the world up and down, 

And many a town you '11 see, 
But there 's no town like my town, 

No difference how poor it be. 
Por there are the dear old friends 

Who knew me when I was a boy. 
Bless their kind hearts, it sends 

A thrill of the wholesomest joy 
To land in town and go up the street. 
Welcomed by all the people I meet. 
Oh the poorest town is hard to beat 

For the boy who was born and raised there. 

You may hold to it up and down 

That yours is the finest to see, 
But it 's no town like my town, 

No difference how fine it be. 
For there are the people that stare. 

And wonder who that fellow is. 
Bless their hearts though, I declare, 

It 's human to wonder and quiz. 
And those same cold strangers, that only seem so, 
Are kind old friends of yours, I know. 
Oh the coldest town will overflow 

To the boy who was born and raised there. 

But ah, when these friends are gone, 

Gone, all but you and me, 
Not your town nor my town 

Will be what it used to be. 
167 



We '11 miss the kind faces we knew, 

And forget the old honest pride, 
And we '11 argue, as old men do, 

That the world has grown too wide. 
But God has arranged for the dear old men 
To meet together as boys again, 
And we'll go and leave the old towns then 

To the boys who were born and raised there. 



THE PIGGIES. 

Five little pigs came in our yard. 

Heigh-ho little piggie-wiggies ! 
And they went to rooting without regard. 

Hey there ! little piggie-wiggies. 
I didn't like to go out in the rain, 
But they went on rooting with might and main. 
My wife just tapped on the window-pane. 

Ho-ho ! little piggie-wiggies ! 



We had to laugh when they looked around, 

Ha-ha ! little piggie-wiggies ! 
With their little bright eyes all covered with groun* 

Tut, tut, little piggie-wiggies. 
We tapped again, and they wheeled about 
On their short fat legs and scampered out, 
And each made a nose at us with his snout. 

Why, why, little piggie-wiggies. 

168 



THE MOLE. 

Look, love, at the pretty mole I found. 

I saw it going into the ground, 

And caught it, and brought it home to you. 

I was just coming out of the field where I husk. 

When the moon peeped over the Indian mound, 

And I saw something crossing the road in the dusk. 

I knew what it was ; and before I could pause. 

Boy-like, I had him, body and claws, 

And was hurrying home with my prize to you. 

I thought at first how nice it would look 

To make you a dainty money-book 

Of the delicate fur, but my heart was true. 

And I said ' ' No, Paul, that will never do. 

God is merciful, we must be." 

But I brought it home for you to see. 

Isn't it fat? Just come and feel. 

Its fur is as soft as the softest seaL 

What a strange blue cast — Oh hear him squeal ! 

Get me the cage, dear. Poor little mole, 

Did I hurt you? There, now, open the hole. 

And I '11 drop him in. He can't get out. 

See him poke through the cracks with his pointed 

snout. 
What a comical face he has when he pries 
With his broad, thick hands, and his wee, bead eyes. 
Whoa, there, get down, little mole, — you'll fall. 
Look out ! I'm sorry. It hurt, I know. 
Little people were only made to crawl, 
And should be quite careful how high they go. 

169 



Just like a boy, though, — at it again. 

But the stubbornest boys make the best of men ; 

And a few hard bumps are good at the start; 

Go it, young wilful, and keep good heart. 

Come, love, he is angry now, for they say" 

Moles are cross little things that way. 

And we 'd be, too, if we lived in the sod, 

Shut off from the beautiful world of God. 

I pity a mole, as I pity all those 

Who survey the world's end at the tip of their nose, 

And never look up at the far blue sky, 

And forget their vexations, as you and I. 

Yet maybe I wrong this poor little mole. 

Birds hymn their Creator, and why not he? 

It was preached that the black man had no soul, 

But a kind old sinner set them free. 

And now they 're God's children the same as we. 

Who knows? When I seized my little slave 

He was probably out for his modest share 

Of the autumn harvest our Father gave. 

For industry reaps the rewards of prayer, 

And all is for all, whether mole or man, 

At it early, and get what we can. 

At it together, and praise the Lord, 

Remember the poor, and forget the reward. 

But supper is ready and waiting I see. 
Oh dear little wife, you are so good to me. 
Come, let us sit down in the presence of Him 
Who was always our Guest when the days were 
dim, 

170 



AUf fees 

But Who is our bountiful Host to-night. 
I remember you told me 't would all come right. 
God bless you, sweet Gertrude. What would I do 
In this beautiful world, were it not for you? 

But this little mole is on my mind. 

It is never right to be unkind. 

I am sorry. I wish I had let it go. 

It hurts me to see it worried so. 

Yet how should we love these queer little elves, 

If we didn't catch one and see for ourselves? 

Hereafter, when I see one burrow down 

Into his subterranean halls, 

Arching the sod, and dividing the walls, 

As he makes his way to the fairy town 

With stolen goodies for the babies that wait 

With mamma mole, at the city gate, 

I '11 laugh to myself, and hurry on, 

So he '11 come for more when I am gone. 

[Now, to-night, when the moon is high, and we take 

Our usual walk, overlooking the lake, 

We '11 carry our little prisoner back, 

With some corn for him in a paper sack. 



TO KEATS, AFTER READING HIS LIFE. 

Thus ends the tale. And it is long since then. 

But beauty lives, and life is lovelier now. 

Oh had they known thee as we know thee now. 
Perhaps ihey had received thee kindlier then. 

171 



But poetry is still crime with average men, 
And commonness is as hateful to the brow 
Of delicate thought as 'twas the days when thou, 
Sweet, gentle boy, didst weep, and sing again. 
But patient wisdom sees a better age, 

Far through the trying years, when great-grown 
man 
Shall value greatness ; and the still, high courts 
Of listening and attention shall engage 
To hear from bards who at thy feet began, 
That beauty still is truth by all reports. 



MARRIAGE. 

It is my sweetest blessing now 

That I may re-begin 
With one who sees before I point, 

And can be trusted in. 

Who feels before I speak ; who knows 

More truth than I can tell ; 
Who, though my language poorly flows, 

Will understand as well. 

And yet for whom my thoughts consume 

The simple words I use. 
That flame to just the glow I seek. 

Ere I have power to choose. 

172 



Asides °r fees 

Whose speech is music, and whose hush 

Is the long, modest pause 
That starts in tune with gentle blush, 

Too sweet for strange applause. 

Who lives for me, that I may live 
For Him Who gave our life 

To be a mild demonstrative 
Of happy man and wife. 

Gertrude, my precious, perfect me, 

Made delicate and pure. 
Thou more than I can hope to be, 

Though I may long endure, 

My soul, unlike me as I am. 

But all I should have been, 
Whose symbol is the little lamb. 

That has no thought of sin. 

Yet in thy time thou shalt be more 

Than thou thyself art now, 
To draw me upward as before, 

As none else knoweth how. 



Just as we help ourselves the most. 

By helping others first. 
That difference cannot be lost 

Till all sin be dispersed. 

173 



Go on, my soul, my sweeter soul, 

And lead me to the skies ; 
There where the years forever roll, 

And marriage never dies, 

There where the truth shall all be known, 

That no one knoweth now, 
We go, sweetheart, but not alone. 

For God shall teach us how. 



FAILURE. 

Far in the past's eternal afterglow 

Celestial glory gilds the silent west. 
The darkness gathers round me as I go ; 

Sing on, my soul, remember, there is rest. 
The glow will fade, the day will soon be past ; 

The night will come, and listening, mock thy steps; 
But thou be great ; the time will come at last 

When men shall love thee, though it be, perhaps, 

When thou hast dropped behind the world's elapse 
In silence. Would that I could always dwell 

In the calm quiet of unruffled thought ; 
And sing for those about me, and could tell 
Of the far ages that I see so well, 

When men shall love each other, as they ought. 



LAST NIGHT. 

Last night, when I awoke, the frozen winds 
In mad pursuit of space were sallying forth 
174 



Out of the forests to the west and north, 
Slamming the doors and howling through the rooms, 
Banging the gates, and sweeping on like fiends 

Across the fields, and on into the glooms. 
And ever one was left to grope about 

Sighing, far in a lone room. I could not sleep. 
I closed the windows down, and still without. 
The crazy gates did rattle, and moan, and weep, 
And I was shut within the house alone. 
And a quick sadness seized me, and I felt 

For thy face, love, remembering thou wert gone 
Down to the river, in the cozy town, 
To visit thy good mother where she dwelt. 



LITTLE ALLEGRA. 

To-day I got a valentine 
From my sweet little cousin. 

Before I was a married man 
I used to get a dozen. 

But since a pretty school girl stands 
Beside me, to protect me, 

My little kindergarten friends 
Have purposed to neglect me. 

However, we shall not despair 
While skies are blue above us, 

And little Allegra shall swear 
By all the stars to love us. 

J75 



CHICKENOLOGY. 
I. 

All ar hens walks on the'r ban's, 
'Cause the'r han's is same as feeC 

An' ar ol' roosters, they're iss stan's, 
An' crows, an' crows, an' eat an' eat. 

My mamma says that there 's because 

That 's how chickuns always does. 



II. 

Yes, an' when ar big hens sets, 

They're hatches little chicks, like ars. 

An' mamma says, when the big sun sets, 
It hatches little stars. 



III. 

My U'cle Ben says, 

Ef I c'lect hens' teef, 
He'll gi' me dollar 

Fer ever' one. 
We're got a ol' hen 

Nat's pit-nigh deef, 
An' can't hartly s waller, 

'N'am go' to git a gun, 
An' shoot its neck off, 

An' git a dollar. 
An' buy some candy. 

Nen won't I holler? 

176 



TO MYSELF. 

Do now, to-day, all that you know you ought. 

No generous effort ever came to nought. 

Work. For the night will come when they must 

work 
Who, through the day, permit themselves to shirk. 
And they who did their best, though they need rest, 
Must stay and help while they have strength to stand. 
So shall the work be finished in the end. 



TO MY BROTHER ARTHUR 

Once, at the long farewell of day, 
Above the wide-mouthed river, 

I took my contemplative way 
Where the golden waters quiver. 

Unmarked of men, the same as they, 
Heirs of the great forever. 

Now, like an idle ship that's furled, 
I watched the ships at sea ; 

Or where the rolling breakers curled, 
And splashed the beach with spray. 

I was at peace with all the world, 
The world at peace with me. 

And then I met a thoughtful man. 

( Ah, there are too few such. ) 
And, glad to meet him, thus began : 

( Respectful was my touch. ) 

12 177 



"I am a boy, but I enjoy 
Good company very much. ' ' 

"I hope you find enough," he said. 

I answered, "Yes, indeed. 
The world is full of books unread, 

That every boy should read ; 
And now and then I ply the pen. 

For practice, which I need." 

"Why practice with the pen, young man? 

The world has books enough. 
You said yourself that every shelf 

Was loaded with such stuff. 
You '11 starve to death." I held my breath. 

His way was rather rough. 

I was too quick. " I 'd rather starve," 

I said, ' ' than not stand true 
To Him Who has His hopes set high 

On everything I do." 
"You're young," he said, and turned his head. 

He hurt me through and through. 
I did not have the heart to brave 

Against such interview. 

With quivering lips I thanked him well. 

He answered not a word. 
How I moved on I cannot tell. 

Oh, it was very hard, 

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To think a fellow-man would kill 
My hopes, without regard. 

I looked beyond the glowing sky, 
And found my comfort there. 

And though a tear stood in my eye, 
I soon forgot my care, 

And pitied him whose soul was dim, 
And took him in my prayer. 

That night I rose and took my hat 

And sought the river side. 
The night was dark, and not a spark 

Showed where the waters glide. 
I was the only one to hark 

The lapping of the tide. 

I wrote; and though I could not see, 

I loved what I did write; 
And while I wrote, it seemed to me, 

The paper blazed with light; 
I looked : the moon had burst its noon ; 

The clouds were fleecy white. 

And Arthur, many a time since then, 
Though wounded to the core. 

Have I found solace through my pen, 
Forgiving, as before. 

And though the same should strike again, 
I '11 love him more and more. 

179 



LITTLE BIRDS. 

A little brown bird sat in our tree, 

Smgmg. 
A little brown bird in a very big tree, 
And he stopped and said "Howd'e do" to me 

And went on singing. 

I recognized him as soon as he spoke, 

Singing. 
He looked like his little old kinfolk 
That used to live in our big oak, 

Singing and singing. 

A little brown birdie beneath him sat. 

Listening. 
And when she saw me she turned like that I 
And asked him whom was I looking at. 

Staring and listening. 

I let on like I never heard. 

Listening. 
Then she said "This is getting too absurd. 
It 's too public a place for a little girl bird, 

And people listening." 

I heard him then, as I slipped away, 

Whispering. 
I hope he '11 coax her and get her to stay, 
Don't you? Then I '11 climb up some day. 

Peeping, and whispering, 

180 



And then I '11 hurry down to you, 

Whispering, 
And then I '11 put the big ladder through, 
And you can climb up and peep in too, 

Laughing, and whispering. 



WHEN WE WERE MARRIED. 

The woods were full of flowers, love, 

When I came by to-day ; 
In just a few short hours, love, 

'Twill be the first of May. 
And then in one sweet month, love, 

And it will be a year 
Since you and I were married, love, 

And are you happy, dear? 

Oh are you happy, happy, dear? 

And do I make you glad ? 
And do you never, never dream 

Of the joys you might have had? 
And do you love me, love me, dear , 

As you did that happy morn. 
When you and I were married, dear, 

And I was weak and worn ? 

Oh the woods were full of flowers, love. 

When I came by to-day. 
I have counted all the hours, love, 

Since you were called away. 

181 



And I thought in one day more, love, 
And I would see you here, 

A week since we were parted, love, 
And are you happy, dear? 

Oh we are happy, happy, dear. 

For God hath made us glad; 
And we shall never, never dream 

Of the joys we might have had. 
Oh let us love and thank Him, dear, 

As we did that happy morn. 
When you and I were married, dear, 

And I was weak and worn . 



AFTER HEARING A FAMOUS EVANGELIST. 

God is my Father, and I knew Him not. 

But he knew me, and loved me, and was patient. 

Ye joyful, preach ; but be not rash ; be patient. 
These are His own ; and have ye too forgot? 
I understand them best ; they cannot see. 
Oh let me love them; leave them here with me. 
Urge not thy superstitions. Are ye God, 

That threat mankind with vengeance, and the 
grave ? 

Man gives no time to love that will not save 
For its own sake, whose gospel is the rod. 
He faces judgment and the eternal wrath 

Unflinching ; for he knows he cannot die. 

182 



He feels God stir within him, and he hath 

A silence for all creeds. For by and by- 
Truth shall transcend the church. The day will come 

When God shall be no more misunderstood. 

The error robs the truth of half its good. 
We are inspired, and shall our lips be dumb? 
Till then I shall still hear you and receive 

Error with truth ; for I have much to learn, 
Much to endure, many to believe, 

Ere I am calm, and ready for my turn. 



TO MY BROTHER ARTHUR, EMBARKING 
FOR CUBA. 

The breeze was at our back, 

And the shades of our sails before, 

And over the water spread the track 
To the sands of our native shore. 



Over the waters gleamed the way 
In the glow of the sinking sun, 

And the billows rolled like liquid gold 
Till the starry night came on. 

And into the starry, chilly night. 
And over the sighing swell, 

With here and there a gleam of light. 
And now and then a bell. 



183 



Till the stumbling seas on hands and knees 

Groped after us in the dark, — 
It is a lonely joy at sea 

To lean on the rail and hark. 

But ah, look up at the silent worlds. 
That roll through the awful deep, 
And think how far through the night they are. 
Star and planet, and planet and star, 
Kolling and never asleep. 

Oh brother of mine, may peace be thine 

When out on the flying foam 
Thou turnest from all the stars that shine, 

To think of the ones at home. 

For there is a sorrow above all pain, 

That binds us to those we love. 
And a peace that no man can explain, 
If we but remember whose hands contain 

The sea, and the stars above. 



TO LAIRD EASTON. 

Lythe is the willow withe ; 

But my love is more graceful to me. 
Fair is the Venus of myth ; 

But my love is far fairer than she. 
The little girl with the rose in her hair. 
Show me one that is half so fair. 

184 



Cool is the early morn, 

When the dew is wet on the grass ; 
Green are the fields of corn, 

That rustle us as we pass. 
And when our work in the garden is done, 
Calm is the glow of the setting sun. 

We love, and gather our feast, 

All in the still twilight ; 
Then in the quiet east 

We watch the glories of night, 
Till the fields are lost, and the woods grow deep, 
And all but the stars are gone to sleep. 

Who is as happy as we? 

' T is noble to toil with the hands. 
And God hath given to me 

A woman, who understands. 
The little girl with the rose in her hair. 
Oh there is none that is half so fair. 

Cherries are on our shelves, 

Strawberries, and everything good. 

We picked them and canned them ourselves; 
My little girl understood. 

But summer is long, and there 's much to do. 

Our trees are drooping with peaches, too. 

Come when the year sits down, 

And smiles at the goodness of God ; 

185 



When the fruits are yellow and brown, 

And the graceful goldenrod 
Sways and dies by the roadside fence, 
And summer is gone, and the rains commence. 

Then indoors by the glow 

Of the warm fire, watching the blaze, 
We talk of the long ago, 

And plan for the winter days ; 
And the good we hope to do when we can, 
When she is a woman, and I am a man. 

Come when the still frost cracks 

In the winter solitudes ; 
Then with bright steel saw and axe 

We go to the echoing woods. 
And her voice rings out from tree to tree- — 
She is gathering nuts, and is calling me. 

I come. She is beautiful. Laird. 

I know I am manly and rough, 
But we are so happily paired, 

I cannot love her enough. 
God bless her and keep her till I am old. 
Yet for His sake we could brave the cold. 

Thoughts of death, like a cloud, 

Pass over the winter sun, — 
But she calls my name aloud : 

And I see a rabbit run ! 

186 



And her happy eyes have a kindly tear 
For the joy of loving and being here. 

We understand, and are glad. 

She piles up the hickory bark, 
And I dream of the day we were wed. 

She is singing. The angels hark: 
And I feel a thrill to the steps of Heaven ! 
Oh Lord, what have I not been given. 

Hush : in the solemn awe 

Of the great cathedral oaks, 
Comes the delicate sing of the saw, 

Or the loud, re-echoing strokes ; 
And the odor of chips is the incense there 
That God detects in our busy prayer. 

So in the frosty morn. 

Till the low sun smiles at noon. 
And the steam is slow upborne 

From the glades that were green in June ; 
And tired, and hungry, and full of love, 
We gather our things, and prepare to move. 

Some day I '11 come again, 

With a neighbor's boy and team, 
And the twigs will snap, and the chain 

Will rattle against the beam, 
And the loading will sound through the startled woods 
And waken the owl where she shivers and broods. 

187 



Now on the old rail fence 

We linger, and rest awhile. 
She is tired. My inner sense 

Can see it beneath her smile. 
Loaded down with bundles of wood, 
I cannot help her. I wish I could. 

Across the thawing fields, 

Slowly we toil apace. 
She flags, but she never yields, — 

I watch her beautiful face, 
And my anxious heart forgets the weight 
Of the bundles of bark, as I watch my mate. 

Now she is ahead of me, 

Against the cold, gray sky. 
It must be a picture to see. 

My little plain wife and I, 
She with the heavy, shouldered axe, 
I laboring steadily in her tracks. 

After our simple meal 

We sit by the kitchen fire, 
At home ! But I curb my zeal, 

And cease, for fear you will tire. 
I quite forgot it was warm July. 
The clouds are magnificently high. 

Come, little girl, let us go. 

( She 's been sitting here in the shade, 

188 



AsUf ^. 



QS^S 



Sewing ; and you shall know 

What dear little things she has made. 
Wait. Not now. We '11 be happier soon. 
Come study with us this afternoon. 

( Dear are the books we read ; 

Instruction is all we seek. 
Many the things we need, — 

Bat look at the glow on her cheek. 
Come hide with us from the heat of the day 
Our little home is just over the hay.) 



PEACE. 

To thee, in all the pride of love, 

With welcome from the glorious war, 
To thee we come, Western Dove, 

And gather on the shore. 
And 'round a glad, enlightened land. 
Thy happy millions, hand in hand, 
Sing to the God for Whom we stand, 
Father of rich and poor. 



And all just nations of the earth 
Respond and send the truth abroad 

That man is of the noblest birth 
Who does the will of God. 

That nations formed for power alone 

Shall tremble when their people groan, 



For right is higher than the throne, 
And stronger than the rod. 

Our sin, we hope, is justified. 

We waited, but no way was plain. 
But ah, remember Him who died ; 

Eemember not the Maine. 
Be kind as well as sensitive. 
Be great, and let the living live. 
It is heroic to forgive; 

And mercy leaves no stain. 

Then come, ye heroes of the Lord, 

Whose bare arm was the last resource, 
Go every man and sheathe his sword. 

And gear the plow to horse. 
Long may thy battleflags be furled, 
Bright promise of a better world. 
And though a thousand lips be curled. 
Still patience be thy force. 

Let us forget how well we fought. 

And with humiliation see 
We, too, haVe not done all we ought, 

Nor been what we should be. 
But the gallows leans into the past, 
For Mercy hath been heard at last. 
And though tradition holds us fast. 

All life shall yet be free. 



190 



Then let us work to that great day 

When states, and kings, and law, and war 

Shall serve their use and pass away. 
And peace shall shut the door. 

And men shall face the Eternal Good, 

"Who then will all be understood, 

And we shall stand one common blood, 
No great, no rich, no poor. 



MY BROTHER. 

I celebrate my brother. He has come 

From Santiago with the soldier boys. 
He hurried forth at sound of fife and drum, 

And now they bring him home. No foolish noise 
Proclaims the hero of our little band. 

He is a private in the Seventy-first, 

Worn with dull service. When the crowd dispersed 
We wept with gratitude, and held his hand, 

And begged him did he hunger, did he thirst, 
And soothed his haggard cheek, and stroked his hair. 
For he was homesick, and they left him there, 

All in a hot, dead country. But he bore 
All like a man. My brother. Our brave boy. 

God bless him, and be with the poorest poor. 
Who look with grief upon the nation's joy. 

Thinking of theirs, who shall return no more. 



191 



AsW 1 fe^s 



ENVOY. 

Here ends my record of four happy years. 
Happy? Not always happy. But I see 
How the best fortune that has come to me 

Has come in spite of fears. 

And I have faltered in the midst of hope. 

Yet smiled. And I am far and quiet now. 
It clouds, but there is sunlight on the slope, 

And I am learning how. 

I shall not always be what I have been. 

Nor what I am. Nor what I yet shall be. 
I shall go on and toil from sin to sin, 

Nor rest till I am free. 

Have patience then ; dwell not upon my faults ; 

I see them all ; God knows I am ashamed. 
Oh many a night beneath the starry vaults 

I ache for my transgressions ; for, unblamed, 

I blamed, and sought forbearance. Yet friends, 
Love me in spite of this, and let us learn 
That the poor souls that toward perfection yearn 

Do please the only One Who understands. 



192 



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